


Honor from Ashes

by TheCuriousNumber5



Series: Honor [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuriousNumber5/pseuds/TheCuriousNumber5
Summary: Years have passed since Orgrimmar's establishment, & Azeroth is ravaged by the Lich King's Scourge. Gylledra & Saurfang are forced to navigate tragedy & consequences on and off the battlefield, shaking the very bedrock of life as they know it. Her organization has grown & with it, the challenges that arise from within, requiring difficult decisions.





	1. Chapter 1

**26 ADP**

 

 

 

_You’ve already failed…the sands will swallow you up…all you love are dead…betrayer…_

Gylledra woke in a cold sweat, not for the first time, and bolted upright, her breath coming fast in the night silence. The whispers echoed in the darkness, not that which surrounded her, but that which filled her, more potent and powerful than it had ever been.

“The dream again?” Varok asked, his voice hushed and groggy as he sat up beside her. She nodded and he reached over to the table beside the bed where a cloth sat beside a bowl of water. He wetted it before wringing it out and placed it on the back of Gylledra’s neck. She had not told even Nasorya about the dreams, she had not told her many things about what had transpired in Silithus, only Varok knew.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed.

“Shh.” He wiped her brow before pressing a kiss to it. “It is less often, it will grow more infrequent still. Come, lie down, we need our energy for tomorrow.” He held her closely as they settled in again. The bed at the inn was too small, but they made do. In the morning, they would make the last leg of their journey to the dark portal.

* * *

 

The hot, dry air was oppressive. Even the gentle breeze that stirred brought no relief, only fine, red dust that clung to any moisture. Gylledra wore a scowl as she wiped the phosphorescent blood from her blade and looked at the towering portal that loomed overhead. Demons did not pour through it as they had several weeks earlier, but the demonic forces remaining on Azeroth seemed to still be making an unholy pilgrimage to this place.

She sheathed her sword and spat blood onto the stair before gingerly touching the cut on her lip, healing it. Their dealings with demons had been minimal in the five years that had passed since she watched Archimonde fall at Mt. Hyjal. The Blasted Lands was a vile region even without demons; it was inhabited mostly by ogres who were by no means a delight to interact with. Some of their blood stained her blade as well.

When the Horde and Alliance began sending their troops through the Dark Portal to the Outlands, the shattered remains of Draenor, Gylledra had sent three sizable detachments of her own _Nameless_ soldiers through. What had begun as a small organization of informants and specially trained operatives had, to put it mildly, expanded unexpectedly and exponentially in the last five years. Her Horde troops were led by the orc, Pava, her Alliance troops were led by a human called Andreus Croy, and lastly, Nasorya had taken with her many of the more clandestine-oriented individuals with special assignments. They all had their assignments and had all been reporting back to Gylledra regularly.

“Are you ready?” Varok asked from atop his wolf.

“As ready as I can be to step from this hell into the next.” Her glower deepened, and she wondered, not for the first time, what the last half-decade had done to make her dread what once was a thrill. The enjoyment she took from killing demons was greatly diminished as her hatred for them increased. Grim satisfaction still settled over her as the light of life left their eyes but…to her horror…she found she’d much rather enjoy the ordinary chaos that came with day to day life in Orgrimmar. Having something to live for had taught her where she _should_ find joy. Eradicating fel infested filth was no longer a pleasure, only a necessity.

Passing through the portal was unremarkable, at least for Gylledra, as she had moved between many worlds and many different planes of existence over time. The orcs had no trouble either, but as the group as a whole emerged on the Stair of Destiny in the Hellfire Peninsula, various trolls, tauren, and blood elves staggered, slowly acclimating to having been torn from one reality and spat into another, very distant one.

The pungent stink of fel burned her nostrils as Gylledra’s eyes were met with what appeared to be a stalemate battle. The base of the stair was teeming with demons as Horde and Alliance alike fought to keep them back. In typical Legion fashion, more emerged from two demon gates, immediately replenishing all that fell.

Varok stared out over the barren landscape which was oddly the same red as the Blasted Lands they’d just come from. “There is nothing familiar left…it is more of a wasteland than when I left.”

“Magic ripped this world apart.” Gylledra replied and let out a long breath. “I suppose we ought to carve our way through this mess if we’re ever going to get to Thrallmar.”

“An inconvenient delay.” He grumbled.

“One we don’t have time for.”

Before Varok could stop her, Gylledra started down the stair, not looking back to see if anyone followed her, she didn’t need them to. She was tired and feeling well beyond disagreeable and this was better than inadvertently taking it out on those around her she cared about. She reached her arms out to the side and sent forth a cascading torrent of void that poured across the area in front of her like thick, heavy smoke. It bypassed any Horde and Alliance soldiers and from within it, black, clawed hands reached out, grasping the demons and pulling them down as though beneath the surface of water. As the void slithered outward, it left behind the shriveled husks of what had been their enemies. Gylledra lifted her hands and pushed outward, expelling a shockwave that threw back those who remained as they were consumed by fire from the inside out.

Having heard and seen the commotion at the stair, a Pit Lord was barreling down the road, screaming obscenities and threats. She planted her feet, baring her teeth like a feral animal, reaching downward, gathering power, charging it up before she reached out again, black and blue spikes forming mid-air and driving into the Pit Lord’s body from every angle until at last he fell, the bright fel-green glowing blood pouring forth from his wounds.

There was one thing left to do, and with a final gesture, the demon gates collapsed, damaged beyond any repair. The Legion would need to rebuild them entirely. With a long exhale, Gylledra relaxed, turning around to find an army of shocked faces, and one very not-amused one. Varok didn’t particularly like not being let in on a plan, though, to be fair, she hadn’t exactly had a plan.

“Happy now?” He asked.

“A little.” She gave a shrug and he sighed, not pleased, but not particularly surprised by her behavior. As his mate, she was loving and fiercely loyal to him, as a soldier fighting with or for him, she was a monumental pain in his ass. She knew it because he’d told her… _many_ times.

“Let’s go.” He growled. As much as it annoyed him, Gylledra knew he wasn’t angry with her. He was as sleep deprived as she was; the last year, while relatively quiet in terms of major conflict, had proven challenging. There were many nights like the one before, some worse than others, where she woke violently, haunted by what she had seen in Ahn’Qiraj.

 

Gylledra and Varok rode quietly side by side past the bodies of demons littering the road, their soldiers marching behind them. Her mind was going in many directions all at once as she planned for deeper exploration of the Outlands, but also worried about what Varok might be putting himself through…this had been his home, the world he was _born_ on, that he had learned to fight on…where his son had remained when the Old Horde crossed into Azeroth nearly thirty years earlier. He had said little of what was on his mind as they’d prepared for this journey and taken it.

They would provide support for the Horde already in place, as Thrall wished to visit the uncorrupted, Mag’har, orcs in Garadar, the small settlement in Nagrand. The look on Varok’s face when they received word that the Mag’har had survived and thrived even after all this time, was burned into her mind and rivaled even the Warchief’s reaction.

“I am afraid to search him out, only to find that he died as a child, or was killed.” Varok told her, with his uncanny ability to know what she was worrying over.

“How do you _do_ that?” She muttered, but one side of her mouth tugged upward.

“I have spent a great deal of time looking at you.” He replied, nudging her gently with his elbow. His smile meant he’d already put the events at the Stair of Destiny behind him.

“Will you look for him, though?”

“We will fulfil our orders first and foremost as the Warchief expects, then I will have leave to go to Garadar myself.” He’d already planned it out, it seemed, and she was also certain that in the meantime, he would stoically worry himself into madness.

“A sound plan.” Gylledra agreed, omitting the fact that her own agents were already on the hunt for Dranosh Saurfang. She wanted to know ahead of time what sort of news Varok would be receiving. Knowing him as she did, there was no doubt in her mind that he assumed his son was dead, that there was no way after all this time and after the violent destruction of Draenor for him to have survived. It was shocking enough that _any_ Mag’har survived.

Being in this place and knowing what it meant to Varok had pulled many of thoughts to the forefront of her mind that had never surfaced before. She did her best to push down what she believed was nonsense, one of her age and status should not be concerned with measuring up to ghosts and memories.

* * *

 

Thrallmar was in every way an orcish military outpost. There were no provisions for comfort, only the barest of necessities. Gylledra had no complaint, however, she expected nothing less. An unsettled feeling had filled her since setting foot in Outland and did not subside. The first two weeks in the wretched Hellfire Peninsula came and went with alarming speed. Gylledra had set up her temporary headquarters in a pavilion out of the way beside the main hold but behind the inn. Being in Outland at least allowed for the information to reach her faster and her dispatches to go out sooner. The Ethereals in the shattered borderlands of Netherstorm were somewhat concerning; her mentor thousands of years earlier, who himself was an Ethereal, had told her about his kind and the potential trouble they could cause.

It was the fel-ridden hell hole of Shadowmoon Valley, however, that caused her the greatest trouble. Not only was it the epicenter of the current demon infestation, there was a Black Temple where of all the people in all the worlds, Illidan Stormrage ruled. She had served in the Moon Guard both alongside him and under his command; to learn that he had taken the fel into himself was a horror greater than she could have imagined.

Gylledra had never missed or longed for sunlight so much as she had after only a couple of weeks confined to the strange, permanent twilight that hung over the whole of the Hellfire Peninsula. She’d been born a night elf and then became Nightborne, she was _meant_ for the night, but whatever it was in Outland, it did not suit her. She’d begun to feel as though a shadow hung over her too.

She was down to her last candle as she sat at the large table littered with papers, her own notes, books, missives, quills, empty and full bottles of ink, and a platter with stale bread and cheese she hadn’t touched. She was sorting and organizing the intel to make it easier to grab up specific reports when she needed them. Sleep was fitful at best since coming to Thrallmar in addition to her previous issues, and this day felt more exhausting than most.

The flap-door was suddenly flung wide, the wind making the candle-flame dance, sputter, and then extinguish. She stared at the wax stump, the wisp of smoke rising, and she sighed. From the corner of her eye she saw the hulking, amorphous shape of an orc framed in the doorway, darkening things even further. Perhaps it was a good time for a break, though she was still frustrated with the untimely interruption.

“ _What?_ ” She asked sharply, and looked up at the intruder, shrouded in darkness.

“Is this where I can find Lady Saurfang?” The voice was deep, as was most orcs’, but his was a voice she didn’t know. Though unofficial, the nickname title had spread like wildfire and stuck ever since the end of the Third War.

“I have been called that, yes, but my _name_ is Gylledra Alenos. What is it you need?” The chilliness remained in her tone as she attempted to relight the candle.

“ _You_ are Lady Saurfang? I expected…”

“An orc? Sorry to disappoint. _What_ do you want?” She rolled her eyes at his astonishment.

“I am looking for Varok Saurfang, and was directed to you.” He told her, which gave her a second of pause. “As I traveled, orcs in Zangarmarsh sought me out and directed me here.”

Gylledra gave up on the candle, getting to her feet; she made a small gesture so that a web of fairy lights appeared over their heads, illuminating the dark space. Able to see clearly, she found herself staring into a young, Mag’har version of Varok’s face, and her mouth dropped open in shock. His brow furrowed very much like his father’s did when faced with something that didn’t seem to be making sense and Gylledra searched for her voice.

“Dranosh.” She finally managed, and his eyes widened in surprise. Her impatience and exhaustion had vanished as she gazed in wonder at Varok’s son. He was the spitting image all the way from the crease in his brow to the braids that hung down his chest. Like Varok, she had begun to think there was little chance he had survived all this time.

“You know me?”

“If I am called Lady Saurfang, don’t you suppose that it would make sense that I know his son’s name?” There was no stopping the grin that spread across her face as she knew how happy this was going to make Varok.

“But why do they call you…you are my father’s _mate_? An _elf_?” He gaped at her.

“Times have changed.” She mused. “Now I can see, though, how he looked when he was young, you are the mirror of him.”

“Is he not here in Thrallmar?”

“He is out with a patrol, Varok does not do well sitting still when his mind is so busy. But he will be here shortly.” Gylledra came around the table and took the bewildered Dranosh by the shoulders in greeting before stepping past him to get outside. Spotting one of her own, a troll called Ja’ven, she gave a small, beckoning wave to him from where he was woodworking. Dranosh had followed her out and watched the troll approach.

“Yes, General?” Ja’ven asked, keeping his voice low.

“Find High Overlord Saurfang, whatever he is in the midst of is not so important as this. Let him know it is of the utmost urgency that he returns immediately to speak with me.” She explained. He glanced by her, eyeing the towering Mag’har.

“Dis be his boy, den?”

“You leave that announcement to me, Ja’ven.” Gylledra smirked, though.

“I will fetch him, my lady.” He put his fist over his heart before he trotted off, gesturing at his apprentice to take his spot at the workbench.

“General?” Dranosh asked from behind her, and she turned, smiling cryptically.

“I am, yes.”

“I think perhaps then I better understand how a warrior like my father has an elf for a mate.” He told her.

“Well, I was not always a general.”

“You lead Horde forces?”

“Yes and no.” She paused, trying to decide how much to tell him as she had no doubt that he would go under Varok’s command and not hers. “The Legion, which is responsible for Draenor being in the state it is in has sought for many thousands of years to destroy Azeroth, the world _I_ come from, that the orcs now call home as well. I gathered many skilled people of all races and factions to act as agents and soldiers against the Legion. It is our goal to free the world of demonic corruption and influence, and ultimately aid in the complete dismantling of the Legion, which…that also involves bringing down a mad, dark Titan.”

“I see.” Dranosh nodded. “It does seem a worthy cause. The orcs I met in Zangarmarsh, they were agents of yours, I presume.”

“Yes, their assignment, and that of many others, was to find you or information regarding you…whether you had died or not.” Gylledra saw that his eyes were darker, more brown than amber and she thought it must be that his mother had dark eyes.

“Was all this on my father’s orders?”

“I have not told him I sent anyone to search for you. He is still fulfilling the Warchief’s orders and planned to seek you out himself once cleared to do so. I am not his subordinate, of course, and could not stand idly by when it was within my power to do something.”

“I see…” he murmured again.

“It may seem dishonest, but he is very much afraid that you died, and I will always do everything I am able to ease his suffering.” She looked down for a moment.

“I understand.” Dranosh touched her shoulder and she looked up, surprised. “It is clear, how you feel. I admit I am afraid to disappoint him, I have heard so many stories of his ferocity in battle, all his victories…his strength and honor…”

“You could never disappoint him.” Gylledra felt a strange, perhaps almost sad, pang deep down. _She_ would never have a son. “The possibility that you lived and have grown up has been a light in the darkness for him, despite his fears. It is true, he is…an incredible warrior. His strength and skill are unmatched, most orcs have died in battle well before reaching his age. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen greater.”

“I don’t doubt what you say, but perhaps as his mate, you are a little biased.” Dranosh chuckled and she did smile at that, giving a nod and a shrug.

“That could be true, but I have led forces into battle for hundreds of his lifetimes…yet when I first saw him fight…I had never seen anything like it.” Her cheeks grew warm and she looked away again, feeling a little bashful, but her heart swelled, as full of love for Varok as it had ever been. Even during their most difficult times, her love deepened every day it seemed. She cleared her thought. “Come, while we wait, I will show you around.”

 

Gylledra introduced Dranosh to various individuals whose paths they crossed as she pointed out the various shops and buildings that he might find necessary. Many outright stared at him, seeing the obvious resemblance to their High Overload despite her _not_ introducing him as Varok’s son; that would be for Varok to do.

As the tour of Thrallmar drew to a close, they stopped in front of the hold. Dranosh was describing his childhood in Garadar and behind him, Gylledra could see two riders coming in at breakneck speed, pushing their wyverns to their limit. Dranosh continued about the unknown force inside him that drove him to leave his home and seek his destiny elsewhere as Varok leapt from his mount the instant all four feet touched the dirt. He barreled toward her, his face etched with concern, as always, expecting the worst.

“Gylledra! What has happened? Are you alright?” He unknowingly almost bowled his own son over, nearly picking her up as he took her by the arms and looking as though examining her for injuries.

“I am fine, nothing has happened. But…your son wished to speak with you.” Her eyes turned to the nervous looking orc and Varok blinked, processing what she had just said to him before releasing her and whirling around. The elder and younger Saurfangs stared at one another and Gylledra’s heart was pounding watching as so many things flashed on her mate’s face. Shock, joy, mild apprehension, shock again.

“I am Dranosh.” The younger greeted, his eyes on his father, and his need to make him proud plain on his face.

“Yes, of course…” Varok breathed, his voice heavy with emotion. “My boy…my son…” He reached out, taking Dranosh by the shoulders and blinked back the joy threatening to spill down his face.

“Father.” Dranosh replied, nodding, looking as speechless and overjoyed as his father, who laughed then and pulled him forward into a tight hug as they clapped each other on the back. It affected Gylledra far more than she expected and she fought to keep her composure.

“My son!” Varok said again and when he stepped back, he hastily wiped at his cheeks. “How did you know to come here?”

“Your mate has that answer.” Dranosh gestured to Gylledra who was trying to dry her own eyes and Varok turned to her.

“You did this? You brought him here to me?” He asked her and not knowing what to say, she simply nodded. Many had gathered around by then, watching the reunion. Varok took Gylledra in his arms, though, and kissed her in a way that was _not_ meant for spectators. A small tremble coursed through her when he gently pulled back, his eyes fixed on hers and she took his face between her hands.

“I wanted you to be happy.” She whispered.

“You have made me happier than I have ever been.” He told her, his tears coming down his face. “Thank you, my love, there is _no_ greater gift than this.” His lips met hers again and she inhaled sharply, and her cheeks were burning hot. Orcs simply did not express such affection before the eyes of others, that alone told her much about how happy he was.

“You have a lifetime of talking to do with your son. Go, talk with him.” She smiled, and he gave a nod, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before he released her and turned back to Dranosh.

“Come, let’s eat. I want to hear everything.” Varok gripped his son’s shoulder and they headed for the inn.

* * *

 

Gylledra ate alone beside a small fire and could see Varok and Dranosh at a table outside the inn still deep in conversation periodically punctuated with laughter or raised voices accompanied by descriptive gestures of warfare. Nasorya, who had just arrived back at Thrallmar strolled up to Gylledra’s fire and sat down, reaching for an empty bowl.

“Eating alone?” She asked unnecessarily then looked more closely and saw Gylledra quickly brush away a stray tear. “What the hell happened, Gyll?” She glanced over to where Varok was then back to Gylledra again. “You’re _crying_? I will rip his fucking balls out _through_ his throat…” She snarled and moved to rise.

“No! No…Nas. It’s not bad.” Gylledra stopped her. “He is with _Dranosh_.” Nasorya looked back over, her mouth dropping open.

“Wow…aside from the obvious difference in hue…and…oldness…they’re exactly the same!” She exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s rather remarkable. I was quite taken aback.”

“Looks like a lot of nice features in the new and improved model, too bad it’s his kid and you’re still stuck with the decrepit one.” Nasorya sighed theatrically and ladled stew into her bowl from the pot hanging close to the fire.

“Your kind and generous opinions of Varok never cease to amaze me.” Gylledra snorted.

“Why aren’t you over there with them? I can’t imagine you’re disinterested in whatever his son has been up to for almost three decades.”

“Because it isn’t about me, Varok needs time with his son.”

“And?” Nasorya gave her a level, knowing look and Gylledra attempted not to grimace into her bowl, giving a small, half-hearted shrug.

“And I know Dranosh will want to know about his mother. And, well…I _don’t_ want to know about her.”

“Ah, there it is.” A contemplative look crossed Nasorya’s face and Gylledra narrowed her eyes at her.

“Just leave it alone, Nas.”

“How old is Saurfang?”

“Whatever this conversation is, I _don’t_ want to have it.”

“Well, based on Thrall being, what…about…twenty-five, _and_ he’s the warchief and a very skilled, accomplished fighter…” Nasorya pursed her lips, going on anyway. “He’s _been_ the Warchief since we’ve known him, what…nearly six years? Five? And _he_ doesn’t have a mate and hasn’t put forth any offspring…knowing what we do about Saurfang when _he_ came through the portal, he must have been in his mid-to-late twenties. Dranosh was just a baby then and orcs usually start making babies nearly as soon as they find a mate, so I can’t imagine he was with his mate more than a year or two at most. Even then, he was off most the time doing orc stuff, hitting things with his axe and the like…”

“ _WHAT_ is the point of this analysis?” Gylledra was growing agitated and the outburst attracted the looks of various individuals, including Varok himself.

“Just listen to me, Gyll. We know how stupid younger orcs are…with the exception of Thrall, but he is…oddly mature.” Nasorya, on a roll, set her bowl down. “Back then, Saurfang was already a well-known warrior, but also a hot-headed youth and _then_ he drank demon’s blood. How much time can you surmise he _actually_ spent with his mate?”

“I don’t fucking _care_ how much…”

“Probably enough to make Dranosh, which is what…two or three minutes?” Nasorya chuckled at her own joke as Gylledra glared at her. Usually, she wasn’t quite this obtuse. “ _You_ are his _great_ love, the love that only ever happens once in a lifetime if it ever happens at all. So, don’t torture yourself comparing yourself to a ghost…”

Gylledra surged to her feet, throwing her bowl to the ground and only then did Nasorya realize she was genuinely angry and stood up, eyes wide. “I was not questioning the greatness of his love for me. Do not presume to know my every thought and insecurity.”

“Oh, right, of course. Silly me, thinking that thousands of years in your company would give me a good idea of exactly what that look on your face means.” Nasorya frowned and poked her in the chest. “You did a beautiful thing for Saurfang, don’t let the past mar that. _You_ are his mate.”

“I am not an orc, Nasorya, am I even really his mate if he will not marry me and I can never give him children?” Her words bore with them a blow that neither of them had expected. Gylledra wasn’t even sure where the thought had come from, she had never consciously paid it mind, but obviously it lurked inside her, waiting for a vulnerable moment to strike at her. Nasorya looked as though she’d been slapped.

“Oh, Gyllie…I…I didn’t know that you…”

“No.” Gylledra put her hand up, stopping whatever the rest of the sentence would be. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, and you pushed anyway.” She breezed past Nasorya and a moment later found wyvern reins thrust into her hands by one of her own guards. She gave the tauren woman a nod of thanks before mounting and taking off out of Thrallmar, much in need of some time without anyone trying to convince her of anything.

 

It was growing later, and the air had cooled and though she felt chilled, Gylledra didn’t return yet. The breeze on her face as she slowly flew, kept her alert. She truly was happy for Varok to have his beloved son back. He had been very hard on himself over the years, torn between upholding his promise to his dead mate…his real mate…and the feeling that he’d abandoned his son to live as an orphan. Now he would be able to make amends, get to know his son, and forgive himself for whatever blame he always taken upon himself.

Gylledra’s own infrequent insecurities were of no consequence and she had no desire or intention of burdening Varok with them. She wished she had never said anything about it to Nasorya, they were her own things to deal with and she knew how ridiculous they were. Sometimes she wondered at the pettiness of her own periodic self-pity when the rare occasion of such feelings did crop up. _This_ , she imagined, was yet another reason she’d avoided intimate involvement of any sort for so long. But she also regretted nothing, whatever ridiculous passing notions she experienced, being by Varok’s side had brought to her more happiness and clarity than she’d ever had by herself. Before even crossing through the Dark Portal into this place, she knew there would be things like this that would arise as different facets of Varok’s past were faced.

 

The semi-darkness of Outland night had set in by the time Gylledra returned to Thrallmar. Most everyone had turned in and she returned the wyvern to its stable. She took off the saddle and harness then fed and brushed the creature before closing it in to its stall where it seemed to happily settle down.

Varok was alone by the fire Gylledra had vacated earlier and he looked up, smiling at her as she approached. She was glad to see him and took his hand as he reached out to her, pulling her close to stand between his knees. He wrapped his arms around her as he buried his face against her chest. Gylledra let her cheek rest on the top of his head as she stroked his hair.

“Where is Dranosh?” She closed her eyes, relishing the closeness, and the warmth that constantly radiated off his skin.

“He had not slept between Zangarmarsh and arriving here, he was exhausted, so he has a room at the inn for the night, tomorrow we will get him some armor and a place in the barracks. He wishes to serve the Horde.”

“He is your son, I expected nothing less. He will make as fine a warrior as his father.” She kissed his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“How are _you_?” He asked against her. She made a noncommittal noise and he looked up to meet her eyes. “I saw you quarrel with Nasorya.” _Damn it_.

“It happens.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, hoping the subject would die as she attempted to tempt him with her feminine wiles, but when she pulled back, he looked more determined.

“Not like that it doesn’t.” He replied, and she heaved a sigh. “You were upset enough to storm off…”

“Varok…”

“I think there are some things we need to discuss…” He began, and she pulled back from him at once.

“Did she…” The words came out as a hiss as fury suddenly coursed through her body. “How _could_ she? She had no right to speak with you about _anything_ I…” He took her firmly by the waist, preventing her escape.

“She would _die_ before she betrayed you in any way. She has said nothing to me.” His voice was stern and Gylledra knew he was right. Nasorya would push boundaries and disregard basic social rules, but would never betray Gylledra. “She gave me a scathing glare, but _said_ nothing.”

“She pressed for a discussion I preferred not to have.” She finally admitted, begrudgingly.

“My old ears are keener than you think.” He took her into his embrace again as she tensed up, realizing he’d heard. _Shit, damn it, damn it_ … “What you said…”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” She said quickly, wishing to flee and never face this topic, to pretend it wasn’t a thing and that she had never said a word about it.

“We must.” Varok insisted.

“Why? It doesn’t matter, we’ve both said stupid things while angry…”

“It is something that matters. I saw your face, I know when you are truly wounded. Whether physically or otherwise.” He wasn’t wrong and she grew more uncomfortable. She had never been good at discussing things of this nature, things that hurt her heart. She barely tolerated having feelings of any sort to begin with!

“I didn’t know that you thought about children.”

“I don’t.” She answered too quickly. “It isn’t possible, there is nothing to discuss about children.”

“Why did you tell Nasorya that you are not my mate?” He asked. She squirmed internally and somewhat externally as well, against his grip.

“I…because…” She fought for words and against feeling too strongly so that he would see. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want him or anyone else for that matter to see that things hurt her. “…we never…”

“Stood before others and made promises to each other?” He offered. Gylledra clenched her teeth and stared at him. Her lack of response was enough of a response for him. “Do you want to do that?” He asked. _Do I?_ She wondered. If it bothered her so much, in some way she must have desired it.

“I never said anything for a reason!” She snapped and finally did push his hands off. She stepped back, taking deep breaths and looked away.

“Which is?”

“It doesn’t matter. I wish I had never said anything, this is stupid…”

“It’s not.” He replied.

“I am far too old to be concerned with small matters.”

“You’re not.” Varok shook his head. “It is no small matter.”

“I have been content all these years, Varok. It is _fine_.” She wanted the conversation to be over. She’d reconciled herself with this particular matter years ago, but here it was, rearing its head again. “There doesn’t need to be any further discussion…”

“It is not fine.” He stood and turned her to face him, wiping away with his thumb a tear on her cheek. She reached up, wiping angrily at her own face, ridiculously offended that it would betray her in such a way, giving away her feelings like that. She took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Tears are not fine.” Varok whispered.

“Tears mean nothing.” She snapped, not even certain why she felt angry. Was it because of the discussion or because she was forced to face something she had pushed down out of sight for the last several years?

He sighed. “Gylledra…”

“Varok…I have no desire to have a child, I am eleven and a half _thousand_ years old. And I…I do not need some formal _thing_ to show we are…what we are.” _What are we?_ It wasn’t clear if she was telling him that or reassuring herself. He pulled her close though, watching her eyes.

“We are _mates_.” He told her with that infuriating ability to discern her thoughts from her face alone. “Have you forgotten that a very long time ago we peered into the darkest parts of each other? That we each saw the horrors and the pain that the other had endured, the things that had _created_ us?”

“Of course not.” She whispered. Their minds and hearts had connected those years ago on the deck of the ship as she was falling into darkness. But he reached inside of her, to the very essence of her being, binding them for but moments into a singular consciousness that linked them more deeply and intimately than any physical act of love ever could.

“I have been remiss in that I do not tell you often enough how important you are, that I love you as I have _never_ loved before.”

“I know that you do…I am not some ignorant ninny in need of constant reassurance…” She started.

“Nevertheless, I will make sure you never have even a moment of doubt.” He gave her a thorough kiss, the kind she was powerless to resist, and it left her feeling a little light headed when he pulled back. “When I saw the broken state of this world, I was sure my son was lost, that he must have perished in Garadar. I was too afraid even to send my own scouts to find him, you did what I could not and now for the first time since I can remember…I feel _whole_.” He tilted her chin up so she looked at him. “ _You_ did that.”

“I would do anything to make you happy.”

“For that, you should be properly thanked.” He arched one brow at her and her mouth dropped open, mock-scandalized as he got a handful of her backside.

“You’re despicable.” Her grin belied her words.

“Only because you’ve made me that way, _Lady Saurfang_.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**ADP 27**

 

Dalaran was an audacious place, Gylledra thought. The mages of the Kirin Tor had plucked it out of the earth and moved it to hover over Northrend. It seemed excessive to her, though begrudgingly, she could see the strategic advantages, the scourge could not get to them up there. Mostly, she just didn’t like the place in general, dripping in the frivolous use of arcane. There were brooms enchanted to do the sweeping and the first time she saw them, she could only stare, dumbfounded by the wastefulness of it.

The ruling body of Dalaran was not comfortable with her being free to move about the world while they had not met her or gauged her power, which was exactly how she liked it. The thought of shocking them by revealing her power over the Void was a titillating one. She’d ignored a number of summons in the last few months in part out of spite but also she had no desire to be examined and evaluated by arcane practitioners that perhaps didn’t take its volatile nature as seriously as they ought to.

Gylledra had arrived three days ahead of the requested date and made her way through the pastel streets to the Violet Hold. It was, of course, the tallest and most conspicuous tower in the city and she couldn’t help but wonder at its phallic nature and the council’s need to exert their dominance over magic wielders.

Only a day earlier she had been at the Kor’kron Vanguard to visit with Dranosh and give him a letter from his father as well as deliver several dispatches and updates. The fortress was the very antithesis of Dalaran, and though Gylledra could appreciate beautiful places and things, she found she preferred the stark, rough Horde stronghold to the soft, flowery exterior of the mage-city.

She climbed the Violet Hold’s stairs, striding into the main lobby and was met by a middle-aged looking man who appeared to be expecting her. She sized him up, naturally, and he seemed powerful enough, and was clearly a member of the council, though he would not say so outright.

“You’re early.” His voice echoed off the white walls.

“No, I’m Gylledra.”

“Hmph. I am Khadgar.” She _had_ heard of him. “Seventh time’s the charm, it seems.”

“Ah, well…I didn’t want to come.” She told him, and he blinked in surprise.

“I _heard_ you were…forthright. It would seem also you don’t care for the timetables of others.”

“Did you _really_ expect I would show up when summoned by an authority I do not answer to?” She smiled though and he shook his head.

“Not particularly. I wasn’t sure you’d come at all.” He replied. “Then you arrived today.”

“Eyes everywhere, hm?” Gylledra folded her arms. He was less haughty and demeaning than she had expected. Perhaps she was too accustomed to dealing with Nightborne councils all those years ago. Many Nightborne possessed a unique sort of arrogance, it was a glaring flaw she would have liked to see remedied.

“No, it would have been difficult to ignore the unique signature that emanates from you.”

“I will be sure then to be more careful about other mages sniffing me out.” It was a relief not to find herself staring up at a ring of angry faces. “I’m not sure why I’ve been called here, I want no part of the Kirin Tor.”

“You are aware of our efforts against Ice Crown, are you not?” He asked.

“You’ve been sending summons to me at _Warsong Hold_ …”

“Fair point, it’s safe to say you’re intimately familiar then with the war effort, then.” He nodded and Gylledra pushed down the quips that threatened to bubble up, but was unable to keep the smirk off her face. Khadgar arched a brow. “Yes, we are also aware that the orc Varok Saurfang is someone of particular importance to you.”

“Very diplomatic, Khadgar.” She gave a shrug and watched his ears turn purple.

“Yes, well, it is of no matter to the Kirin Tor.”

“Good answer.” Had he said anything else, she likely would have turned on her heel and left.

“You were summoned because for a very, _very_ long time there has been no one that was not involved with the Kirin Tor that was anywhere near as…adept…as you are. You are unlike the elves I have come to know in recent years.” He explained.

“You are correct. I took a different route.” Gylledra was uncertain how the broken isles and the giant arcane shield covering an entire city had gone unnoticed for ten thousand years. She certainly wasn’t about to tell this mage about it. “The Legion invaded this world the first time because of a very selfish, arrogant, and reckless queen. They destroyed our lives and the lands were literally blown into pieces. I always had a natural affinity for the arcane that made it easier for me to wield, and though I was not as powerful then as the queen was, I did not succumb to the hunger for it, the _need_ for more.”

“You speak of Azshara.” Khadgar looked very interested and motioned to a bench off to the side and they sat down.

“Yes, _that_ repugnant harpy.” A scowl crossed her face briefly, as though tasting something bitter.

“It’s been said that there existed nothing and no one that could match her beauty.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but what good is beauty when beneath it, all that exists is rot, hate, and self-interest? I found her unbearably ugly for her deception and manipulation of the people.” Gylledra let out a long breath. “During that war…I decided that whatever happened, I would grow stronger and do everything I could to oppose the Legion, and I did. I even followed them from world to world and ultimately was forced to watch each one burn or become enslaved. That cannot happen to Azeroth, and so…I am here.”

“I understand.” He gave a nod, seeming satisfied with her words. “I see, then, that the Kirin Tor has little to be concerned about with you.”

“On the contrary, Khadgar, you should be extremely concerned.” Her stare hardened as she watched his blue eyes grow wide.

“What do you mean? Why?”

“Because if I find corruption in your numbers, or self-serving motives that cost innocent lives, you may be completely assured that I will return to Dalaran and lay waste to it with an untold fury, the likes of which you have never seen.” The shift was so subtle that the startled mage had to blink several times as she peered at him through eyes that were now shining black orbs with white irises. Her skin had paled further, the arcane markings growing very dark. It was an unnerving, even monstrous visage, even her voice had a strange, almost metallic sound as the void coursed through her. “I spent countless lifetimes learning to master much more than the arcane.”

Khadgar’s jaw dropped open as he, blind-sided by the sudden change, had no idea how to reply, and she resisted the urge to grin at him then vanished, leaving behind only tendrils of black smoke.

At the base of the stairs, Nasorya, who was meeting her in Dalaran briefly for the day, stood with her arms folded, tapping her foot as she shook her head at Gylledra, who materialized beside her, back to normal.

“What? Like you wouldn’t have lit him on fire to prove a point or something? I can have my fun _too_.”

“With a powerful neutral faction?”

“Nasorya, I _am_ a powerful, neutral faction.”

 

Gylledra and Nasorya made their way to a pub they’d both heard commendations on for some lunch before they went their separate ways, Gylledra to Warsong Hold and Nasorya to her adopted dragon flight. It was dimly lit, as was expected for a pub, but in one corner at a booth, Gylledra noticed two Kor’kron laughing over a pitcher of beer and food. With the current state of things in Northrend, she didn’t think that the Kor’kron especially would be given leave to lounge about in a pub. The troll glanced up at her as she entered and did a double take, blanching upon recognizing her. He jumped up, looking a little frantic and she strolled over.

“My lady…I…we…”

“Safe to assume neither Saurfang knows you’re here?” She smiled and he spluttered some more. “Don’t worry, I don’t care very much what you do, you’re not my soldiers, but I would advise wrapping things up sooner rather than later before someone who _does_ care waltzes in here.” She told them. The troll’s color returned and they both let out a long breath.

“Thank you, my lady, you are merciful.” He gave a nervous laugh and slid back into the booth as she turned to join Nasorya at their own table.

“So, did they _actually_ crap their pants? Because it certainly looked like it.”

“Very nearly.” Gylledra chuckled.

“So, how was the younger Saurfang? Enjoying the vanguard?” Nasorya asked.

“He is well, being a commander suits him, just as it suits his father. If Thrall cannot slow down enough to impregnate someone with an heir, Dranosh would certainly be suitable to inherit the position.” She shrugged.

“What if Thrall just doesn’t know how?”

“Know how to what?”

“Impregnate someone.” Nasorya arched her brows high and sipped her drink.

“He knows how.” Gylledra replied levelly, rolling her eyes a little.

“Yes, but how can you be sure?”

“He knows, Nasorya.”

“Wait… _are_ you sure he knows?” A lewd grin started to spread across Nasorya’s face.

“Are we ordering yet?” Gylledra picked up the menu.

“Gylledra.” The grin faded, replaced by a frown.

“Ooh, looks like the stew is on special.”

“Gylledra!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Northrend was a vile, inhospitable, cold, unforgiving place and Gylledra loathed it. She vehemently despised the Lich King that much more for being the reason she was forced to come to this frozen hell and suffer. Yet, for all that she hated about it, it was where Varok was and she would go wherever he did.

“I’m cold.” Her complaint was muffled from where she was completely buried beneath the heavy blankets on their bed.

“Shall I warm you?” Varok chuckled next to her, pulling the edge of the blanket back enough to see her face.

“I’m not sure even _your_ ministrations could warm this chill from my bones.” It was bait, Gylledra knew exactly how this exchange would end.

“I will give it my very best effort.” He promised, then moved over her, kissing her soundly but halted as his hands were met with copious layers of fabric. “You’re… _dressed_?”

“It’s freezing, and I’m not a living furnace like you are, Varok. You could go outside just like that and not even freeze your bits off.” Gylledra told him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He snorted.

“Not if your bits froze off.”

“I’d better not risk it.” Varok pressed the bit in question against her and she inhaled sharply, a sly smile curling on her lips.

“No, I suppose not.” She kissed him again, wriggling out of the woolen night clothes and shoving them onto the floor. His hands were somehow still hot against her skin and propping himself up with one, the other made its way downward.

“You’re not cold everywhere.” He murmured, before taking himself in hand, then with a long, slow stroke, he was buried in what seemed like the only warm part of her. Gylledra bowed up beneath him, the length of his body warming hers as she let out a shuddering breath. She loved their mornings like this, which were frequent enough, warm beneath the covers, entwined in languid love-making.

“Are you warm yet?” Varok breathed, with a small chuckle; a soft moan was all the response he got. She raised her hips to meet his rhythm as they watched one another’s gaze. It was stimulating to watch the way his face changed when he moved inside her, and to hear his breath as it gradually came faster, his amber eyes darkening with need.

He turned over, holding onto her and she lay across his chest, their bodies still joined as he pulled one of the blankets up over them. Gylledra’s heart was beating faster though, the chill effectively gone. It never took long for his artful ministrations to bring the fire back into her body. She slowly sat up, hands braced on him as she moved so he was nearly withdrawn before sitting back and taking him in deep again. He groaned, clutching her thighs and she kept going, warmth filling her…she was getting close already. Varok was tensing beneath her and she knew he was trying to let her finish first, but his eyes were shut, and he was panting hard, clenching his teeth.

She was pressed so tightly to him, rocking back and forth, the friction was just right and a small sound escaped her as finally she made it, her body moving almost of its own accord, riding him as the coiled pleasure released, coursing through her, the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears. Varok looked up at her and let go, moving hard beneath her, the cords of his neck standing out, his body wracked with completion.

Gylledra collapsed on his chest with a happy sound, feeling a little sleepy again. It had become part of their routine to wake an hour or so earlier than they needed to and spend that time together doing whatever they wished. They would talk or debate or make love or even be silly if the mood struck. It was _their_ time that no one else could have. Often at night they were both exhausted, so the mornings belonged to them.

As Varok rose to get ready for the day, Gylledra lay sprawled on the bed watching him and enjoying the way his muscles flexed as he moved. Distantly, she thought that she’d give just about anything to have even two entire days together without interruption. Duties never ceased, however.

“What’s on the docket today, General?” He asked, strapping on his armored boots.

“Reggie and Pava are due to arrive today and we’ll get with those I have stationed here. Tomorrow we head _back_ to Dalaran, unfortunately, so that I can meet up with the others.” She told him. “I’m not sure how long I will be there for, it will depend on how many problems have come up.”

“I thought you just met with them days ago?”

“No, the Kirin Tor kept sending me summons so I finally stopped ignoring them.” He halted and stared at her for a moment.

“You’d been _ignoring_ the Kirin Tor?” He asked, articulating the words as though she’d just admitted to a heinous crime.

“I’d been…busy, and I don’t have any of them recruited yet, so I was going in blind.” She sighed and sat up. “I only spoke with one member of the council, and he knows who I am. Though if I _could_ garner their direct support…”

“They’re a neutral faction just as you are, it could be highly beneficial.”

“The difference being that they’re an officially recognized faction.” Gylledra grumbled.

“How did it go otherwise?”

“I _thought_ I was going to be interrogated for being the only Nightborne outside of Suramar.” She got up and shoved open the lid of a chest with her foot. “But he never said a word.”

“Do you think they’re more powerful than you?” Varok asked, pulling the leather harness over his head and settling it into place.

“I’m not sure it’s precisely quantifiable…combined and working cleverly they’d certainly give me a run for my money, but the fact of the matter is that I used to literally eat, sleep, drink, and breathe the Arcane. I have a relationship with it they likely cannot _fully_ understand.” She pulled out her leathers from the untidy chest, letting the lid close again with a slam. “I don’t deny that they are powerful and a force to be reckoned with, and I made it clear that I am not about to submit myself to their will just because they say so.”

“If they ever thought _that_ was a possibility they’ve obviously never spoken with anyone who’s met you.” Varok gave a snort. “What if they want you to join them?”

“Ha…never in ten thousand more years…or a hundred thousand after that.” She started getting dressed. “Though it seems unlikely, I’d still like to snag a Kirin Tor underling to have ears and eyes in their midst.”

Gylledra finished pulling her clothes on and began helping Varok with his armor. He didn’t _need_ help but she liked doing it…and he liked her doing it. His braids were a mess from sleeping and their romps both that morning _and_ the night before. She unraveled and quickly re-braided them but she glanced up to find him watching her, a small smile on his lips. One of the straps wasn’t tight enough and she began fiddling with it.

“What’s that look for?” She looked away again, tugging as the stubborn buckle wouldn’t cooperate.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Gylledra.”

“That sounds…ominous.” She murmured, but he chuckled.

“Not ominous…tonight though, at dinner, we can talk.”

“Tonight?” She frowned and looked up at him. “We’re standing right here right now, you’re going to make me worry all day?”

“There’s nothing to worry about, it’s just important, and I’d like to talk about it tonight.” There was a strange glint in his eyes as he smiled at her and she heaved a sigh.

“Alright, dinner it is then.”

“Good.” He bent, pressing a lingering kiss that felt like liquid fire to her lips and left her there somewhat confused and still a little concerned. What matter was so important that he wanted to wait until dinner to discuss it? They discussed all manner of things at all times of day…he sought her counsel often, even on things of a more sensitive or secretive nature.

It was unlike Varok to do such things, he knew very well how much she disliked it. He was not one to plan surprises or make her worry all day; he’d _said_ not to worry, but it clawed at her mind all morning, nevertheless. Such uncharacteristic behavior was difficult to ignore.

They’d been together more than six years, Gylledra didn’t think that with as much time as they spent together there were any more surprises to be had between them. They knew each other entirely…not that there hadn’t been fights, there _had_ been fights, some that had sent anyone within earshot fleeing.

It seemed like longer than only a few years, but not in a bad way. There had been the invasion of Durotar by the Kul Tirans, the war she fought at his side in Silithus which had been a nightmare—to this day she squashed bugs with unnecessary force; they’d fought against the demons that poured forth from the dark portal, and experienced the joyous reunion with Dranosh. The last year in particular Varok was the happiest Gylledra had seen him. He had his boy back, and it was as if the shroud of guilt and regret he’d been wrapped in was truly gone.

So many huge things had happened, and all the smaller things in between. They’d built a home together, gotten to know the people of Orgrimmar and formed friendships. They watched the strange…who-knows-what…between Nasorya and Baine bloom while both of them remained completely in denial for _years_. There had been births and marriages, Pava had only a year ago been joined by ceremony with Reggie. _That_ had completely shocked Gylledra, though it also delighted her, as she was very close with both of them.

Her mind had raced all morning as she distractedly went through her routine. She masqueraded as a tactician and combat specialist for Varok and was headed to the war room to give him her notes on their proposed plans to move soldiers. Thoughts racing and pleasant memories of Reggie and Pava’s ceremony floating about, she halted halfway down the stairs at the thought, her eyes round. _Marriage?_ The possibility hadn’t occurred to her before that moment…could that be it? No, of course not. Impossible.

There was some distant commotion as guards went about their business stopping visitors. Pava and Reggie had probably finally arrived. They were late, which was rare, so rare that it was some cause for concern. She continued to the war room where Varok was leaning on a table, leafing through a pile of daily briefings. To her great relief, Garrosh Hellscream was not there. Gylledra remembered his father well when she had first happened upon the orcs and Grommash Hellscream had sacrificed his life for all orcs and gotten his reputation back. His son…she _loathed_. He was impulsive and hot headed, he thought very highly of himself, and didn’t show respect where it was due.

“Not until dinner, Gylledra.” Varok said without looking up as she approached from behind.

“That is _not_ what I came in here for.” She scoffed.

“Then what _did_ you come in here for?” When met with silence he turned toward her where she stood, lips pursed. “Mmhm, that’s what I thought.”

“ _Actually_ I’m bringing you my notes on the latest bunch of dispatch drafts.” She sidled up beside him and set the papers on the table. “Nothing else.” He had that strange look about him again as he looked at her, it made her feel warm and fuzzy, which was especially difficult to do in the dreadful frozen wasteland where they currently had no choice but to remain.

His smile sent a shiver through her and he put a knuckle beneath her chin, turning her face up to his. “You’re not very convincing.”

“I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, I think Pava and Reggie are finally here, I can’t imagine what’s holding them up.” She told him, and as though on cue, a guard stepped into the room, though he looked distressed.

“Lord Saurfang, there is someone just come from Angrathar here to speak with you.” The guard, for some reason, looked almost ready to throw up on himself, sweat on his brow, and Gylledra frowned. He wasn’t a new enough soldier to _still_ be terrified of Varok. Varok seemed to see it too, his brow drawing together.

“What are you waiting for, then? Send them in.” He shook his head as the guard practically ran from the room. A moment passed, and then another and an overwhelming sense of dread filled Gylledra, _something_ was wrong.

Finally, an orc entered, one she had seen before, but she didn’t know his name, and another behind him, the two of them carrying armor.

“No…” She breathed and stepped back, as though to get away from what news she knew they were about to deliver. Ice colder than anything Northrend could put forth seeped into every fiber of her being as she stared at Dranosh’s broken armor…the armor that had been Varok’s for so long.

“High Overlord Saurfang, it is with the deepest regret that I come today bearing news of your son’s death.” There was sorrow in the orc’s voice. Gylledra looked up at Varok, terrified of what she would see in his eyes and it was many times worse as his face twisted in grief, blindsided.

“My heart…my strength…” he groaned through clenched teeth. She was shaking, watching him trying to push it down, to keep himself from falling apart as she knew he was inside. “My son died in battle…a hero.” He looked upward briefly, schooling his face before meeting the gaze of the somber messenger. “Do not mourn him. This warrior’s death is the death all orcs hope to achieve, there is no greater honor. A prouder father there has never been.”

Gylledra gripped the edge of the table, she was no stranger to death, she had seen many lives taken, she had taken many herself…but this…this was so much worse, so much _more_. The pain she knew was ripping Varok apart only compounded her own grief.

“I am very grateful to you, that you have returned our armor.” Varok went on. The orcs very carefully put it on the table. “When his pyre is built in Nagrand, it will rest atop it.” An agonizing moment of silence crept by. His voice was cold, impassive when he spoke next. “For now, there are more pressing matters requiring our attention. Get yourselves fed and warmed up, I want a full report of what happened at the Wrathgate.”

The orcs left in a hurry and Gylledra turned to Varok at once and the agony in his amber eyes nearly undid her. She wanted to comfort him, to be of _any_ use but she didn’t know what to do, she’d never had to deal with a grieving loved-one before…she’d managed in thousands of years not to face grief head on. Elves did not do well with grief.

“Varok…I…” She shook her head and there before her, he pushed it all down, he was walling himself off, withdrawing as the look in his eyes hardened.

“I meant what I said, there are more pressing matters. I am only one orc, my loss is no greater than that of any other whose sons and daughters fell fighting at his side.” He told her, his voice was gruff, and he took a step back from her, which unexpectedly tore at her heart. She could only stare at him in stunned silence, watching as he turned and left the room.

Everything seemed like it was spinning…mere _moments_ before…all had been well, everything had been _perfect_. In an instant it was all ripped away…and she didn’t even know what happened…or how…or why? She had _never_ wondered why about death in battle before, she always knew why…but now, it didn’t make sense in those chaotic and unending moments of shock.

There was no telling how much time had passed as Gylledra stood dumbfounded and buried beneath more feelings than she thought it was right for any person to have at one time. When Reggie and Pava finally arrived, Pava took her by the shoulders, worry on her face. Gylledra had _never_ been so distraught.

“Gylledra, what’s happened?” She asked.

“Dranosh…was killed at Angrathar.” Gylledra blurted and Pava’s jaw dropped. Reggie moved at once to secure the room, checking for anyone within earshot.

“Where is Saurfang?” Pava looked around them as though he would suddenly materialize as though summoned.

“I don’t know…I was here with him when they brought the armor, it was terrible…and then he turned to stone as only he can, he said there are… _more pressing matters_.” Gylledra explained, disbelief still in her voice. She stared at the armor. “I can’t even…think.” She shook her head sadly. “You will need to go to Dalaran without me, I cannot…”

“Of course. Everything will be taken care of.” Reggie assured her.

 

Varok tore through the hold barking orders, preparing troops, and just in general being a terror…all to bury what she knew was crippling grief. None questioned him or gave so much as a sigh of a complaint, he was by far the most highly respected individual in the Horde, second only to their Warchief. He was the embodiment of honor, upholding without question his oaths, and he had served the Horde with his very blood.

Gylledra had not left the war room, she didn’t even know why, but she sat on a stool by the table, holding vigil over Dranosh’s broken armor. _Where is his body?_ She wondered. Varok had been wearing that very armor the day she met him, she had helped him in…and _out_ of it…countless times. When Dranosh had sought out his father in Thrallmar, Varok passed that armor and his axe to his son and Gylledra had gotten to work with the armorer to help design the armor he now wore and the arcanite reaper he carried.

It had been such a joy to see Varok with his son, they had been uncannily alike. The same fire, the same ideals, the same strength. Despite the decades they’d been apart, their bond was so strong. Gylledra had enjoyed talking to the young orc, listening to the stories of what it was like growing up in Garadar. He wanted nothing so much as to make his father proud, and Varok had beamed every time they were together.

She put her face in her hands, silently wishing she knew what to do. A light footfall startled her though, and she jumped up as Varok stepped up to the table.

“Have you been here all day?” He asked quietly, touching the cold metal.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” She moved next to him, longing to throw her arms around him, or to even simply take his hand.

“You should have gone about your business, it was not your son that died.” The coldness in his voice drove through her like a knife.

“I cannot know your pain and would never claim to, but do _not_ discount the love I have for you and for Dranosh.” She replied icily. “I do not know what I should say or what I should do, there is no consoling this loss; I know that…what would you have me do to offer you…anything?”

“You should leave.” He did not look her in the eye, his gaze fixed on the armor.

“I understand, I will let you be alone…” She started.

“No, I mean leave Warsong Hold, Northrend altogether even.”

“What?” The few remaining shreds of her composure quickly began to deteriorate.

“Go wherever you want…Orgrimmar, the Eastern Kingdoms, wherever your Nameless are.” He told her. “Live your life, do the good you seek to do.”

“That much solitude will help you?” She blinked, staring at the side of his face, scrambling to understand what was happening.

“Having no one left to lose will help me.” He hung his head and she realized what he was telling her. It would have hurt less had he’d just hit her with the broad side of his axe instead.

“You want me to leave… _you_ …” The words were barely audible.

“I cannot bear another loss.”

“And is this _not_ another loss? Or do you believe it will lessen the pain for it to happen all at once?” Gylledra hissed. She was trying very hard to be understanding, to know that these terrible things he was saying were being filtered through his agony, but she had her own anger and pain, her _own_ feelings.

“You asked me what I would have you do.” He growled and she took a couple steps back, still watching him. She couldn’t believe this was happening…only that morning they’d woken up together and made love…he had looked at her in a way that had always made her feel…whole. _How_ was this happening? Again, she wondered _why_.

“You would have me leave…and cast aside everything all these years have been?” She whispered, shaking, her vision blurring. He said nothing, and he did not turn. “And you will not even do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye when you say it.” She shook her head and looked at the floor, the tears spilled down her cheeks as she held back a sob. “I love you Varok…I’ve told you many times that I would do anything you asked, and if this is what will help you…then I will go.”


	3. Chapter 3

Saurfang sat on the stool Gylledra had vacated. For hours he sat, staring at his son’s armor. Despite the jagged wound in his heart, he _was_ proud, _his_ son’s name would be on the lips of Horde and Alliance alike as they spoke of his bravery, ferocity, and heroism. His memory would be honored and there was no greater triumph for an orc than to be remembered in such a way. But Saurfang would never see his son again, he would never speak to him, or clap him on the back in greeting. There would be no more late nights as they discussed their lives and the things they’d done over the years. Dranosh had become everything Saurfang ever dreamed and hoped for his son…but he was no more. There existed no words in any language he’d ever heard that could encompass the depth and breadth of the pain inside him.

And Gylledra…he let out a long sigh, rife with regret. She hadn’t deserved the things he said to her, he didn’t _want_ her to leave. It had been brash stupidity on his part to say what he’d said in his anger and grief. He’d intended that very night to ask her…to tell her…he closed his eyes, the knife twisting inside him. Could she forgive him? He needed her…she’d helped him with his demons as no one else could have and had saved his life, she showed him how to become whole again, how to live meaningfully and strive to ensure his mistakes had not been in vain. Their love had lifted him up when he might have let darkness consume him.

Saurfang got to his feet and was moving before he even knew what he was doing. His boots were heavy on the stairs, the keep was silent it was so late. He halted in front of the door to their chamber, there was light still coming from under the door. He would grovel if that was what it took, to have her with him to weather yet another storm…the worst one yet. It seemed impossible that he could face the gaping abyss of sorrow alone.

He steeled himself and turned the handle. Inside, the oil lamps burned, but the room was empty. The bed was made, which it never was; his other boots were still in the corner…but the room was _empty_ , devoid of everything that had made it their home, however temporary. There were no papers or writing utensils scattered on the desk, the top of the chest of drawers was clear of the tiny figurines and odds and ends Gylledra had kept for her own odd reasons. The pile of books on the floor next to her side of the bed was gone, the collection of empty cups on her bedside table had vanished. He quickly bent and opened the chest she always haphazardly jammed her clothes into but there was nothing in it.

Anger rose like bile in his throat…because it was easier to feel than the alternative. He was angry with himself, he should have known she would not wait for him to change his mind, he had never over the years given her cause to believe him in any way indecisive. Varok Saurfang was not wishy-washy. He’d told her to leave and she had believed him…and so she had gone. But, where?

Sitting on the bed, the ropes beneath the mattress creaked a familiar sound that wounded him even more. Saurfang reached into the small pouch hanging at his belt, taking out the tiny thing inside it and held it in his fist…the tiny thing he’d meant to give her that night, a thing he’d been certain would make her very happy…the corners of its little wooden box bit into his palm. _He_ had done this, there was no one else to blame.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Nasorya’s presence in Azeroth had not gone unnoticed during the first two or three years they’d made their home in Orgrimmar and it was Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, Aspect of the Red dragonflight, of all dragons, who had sought her out. Nasorya had come from another world altogether that had been wiped out even before the Legion came to Azeroth the first time; she was the only one left of her kind, and so she was not part of any of Azeroth’s dragonflights.

The first time she’d spoken with the Life-Binder they spent hours deep in conversation and ultimately, Alexstrasza had welcomed Nasorya to be amongst the Red dragonflight. Gylledra had been very happy for her and for the first time in a very, _very_ long time…Nasorya belonged. She spent about half her time with the dragons and the other half with Gylledra and the Nameless.

 

Nasorya loved the feel of the cold Northrend air against her as she flew, she loved everything about this land, well…minus Icecrown. It was gloomy and fully of death anyway, so there was no loss in making sure to never go there. Never mind the Lich King who presided there and had rained chaos and tragedy all over Azeroth. Dealing with the undead made her miss killing demons, which was really saying something.

It never ceased to amuse her that when her shadow fell across the Horde forces surrounding the Warsong Hold that they scurried in panic for a few seconds before realizing it was her. She had been away from the hold for a number of weeks, far from where even Nameless news could reach her. There seemed to be fewer soldiers at the Hold than usual and as she made her rounds to the usual places, she found no one she was looking for.

“Where is everybody?” She stopped a guard, grabbing his arm and he looked offended.

“There was a great battle at the Undercity.” He replied.

“ _What?_ ”

“Do you know _nothing_ of what’s going on?” The curmudgeonly orc glared at her and spat into the dirt.

“I know _everything_ of course, why the hell _else_ would I be asking where everyone is?” She growled back at him. “I’ve been _gone_ for months, you pork eating dipshit.”

“They’re in Orgrimmar, expected back in the upcoming weeks to resume the war against that frozen bag of bones in Icecrown.” He sneered and then shoved past her. Nasorya made an irritated sound, knowing what a long flight it was to get back to Orgrimmar. “I need a mage…” She halted an older female with her arms full. “Are there any mages here? I need a portal.”

 

The Blood Elf mage had practically extorted the exorbitant amount of gold from Nasorya just to conjure a portal. She had been flying for days, and was not in the mood to fly for _more_ days. She needed to spend some time with Gylledra and catch up on things like…the battle at the Undercity, and whatever else had gone on. She stepped through the expensive portal and into the Cleft of Shadows beneath Orgrimmar, noting the smug expression on the mage’s face before it closed with a small pop and a spark of arcane. She muttered something _extremely_ rude in a language she knew no one would understand before heading topside.

The front door of Gylledra and Saurfang’s house opened with the loud creak of disuse and she frowned immediately. The air inside was cool and stale, and the surfaces all bore a thick layer of dust. They _had_ been in the Borean Tundra for months, Gylledra obviously had not been bothered enough to clean yet and Nasorya headed to the library. It too was dim, cool, and smelt of old books. She touched the wicks of the candles, everything was cold. Were they not in Orgrimmar after all? She gave a frustrated groan not wanting to pay for _another_ portal to wherever.

She closed the front door behind her, hearing the lock thunk magically back in place. The door itself was enchanted to unlock automatically for certain individuals. The old orc woman across the street was hunched over unsuccessfully herding kittens back toward what looked like a den beneath her porch.

“Is the Warchief in Orgrimmar?” Nasorya asked her.

“Yes, yes.” The orc sighed without looking up. “Been for weeks.” Something seemed to be amiss then, Gylledra loved her house, did she and Saurfang remain in Undercity to clean up after whatever mess had been made there? Nasorya gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of the undead Forsaken. She’d been fine with them until the time she accidentally knocked off the arm of an undead man who had been visiting Orgrimmar.

 

The Kor’kron guards stationed outside Grommash Hold looked extremely surprised to see Nasorya, and they exchanged a concerned look, but let her pass. She made her way inside to the throne room where the usual group appeared to be arguing…or discussing some important matter she didn’t care about. She did a doubt-take, however, upon realizing that the brown orc standing with them was _not_ Dranosh. Thrall’s eyes widened and Saurfang blanched…or rather, his face abruptly faded to a slightly paler green than usual. Something was _definitely_ wrong, and a fist of ice tightened around her stomach.

“Where is Gylledra?” She demanded without preamble and not bothering to apologize for interrupting. She glanced around, expecting…or _hoping_ for Gylledra to pop out of…anywhere.

“We were just about to take a break, we meet back here in an hour.” Thrall ordered. The ragey looking brown orc opened his mouth to protest but Thrall gave him a sharp glance. Nasorya was on the edge of snapping, watching as guards even filtered out of the room, leaving her alone with Saurfang.

“Is she hurt? Did something happen to her?” There was a note of fear clear in her voice.

“No.” He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “She left…”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Nasorya shrieked, not giving a damn who heard her. “What…did _you_ … _DO_?” She bared her teeth at him. “She would _never_ have left you of her own accord.” The snarl in her voice and the fire in her eyes was indication enough that Saurfang was in a very precarious position.

“Yes, it is my fault.” The sudden flash of grief and remorse on Saurfang’s face halted her rage for a very brief moment. There was more to this than the worst-case scenario of infidelity in her imagination that was currently clawing at her. She tried rapidly to imagine every possible thing that would cause Gylledra to leave…it was a short list. “A few weeks ago…there was a battle at the Wrathgate in Dragonblight, Dranosh fell to the Lich King’s blade.” He explained with obvious difficulty. Nasorya’s jaw dropped in shock and a pang of sympathy for him, his son had been his pride and joy. Her sympathy, however, quickly iced over.

“And what dumb thing did _you_ do in your grief, old orc?” She trembled, not trusting herself to keep from ripping his throat out…depending on what his response was.

“I told her to leave, that I could not bear another loss.” He looked deeply ashamed and Nasorya stared at him unblinking for a moment.

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” She cried, her voice echoing off the walls.

“I am aware.” Saurfang replied dryly.

“How could you be so stupid?!” She went on, ignoring the slight curl of his upper lip at the insult. “There will _never_ be anyone else who will put up with your guilt-ridden, self-loathing bullshit!” Through the blaze of anger, she thought of Gylledra’s pain…what it must have done to _her_. “She is probably destroyed…” Tears rose to her own eyes, threatening to spill. “You don’t know what you’ve done…you don’t know what could happen to her!”

It happened before Nasorya was consciously aware of it, she had partially shifted to her dragon form, tripling in size, no longer humanoid, fire rippling over her scales and she was gripping Saurfang by the front of his armor and he stared miserably at her.

“Do it.” He told her, and she couldn’t quite tell if he meant it or if he was goading her to try and call her bluff. But it was no bluff, and the temptation was nearly overwhelming.

“No.” She breathed and shook her head. “Gylledra would never forgive me. Live on with your pain, Saurfang.” She dropped him to his feet. “I am sorry for the loss of your son.” Returning to her usual form, she turned and left the Hold.

There was no way Saurfang would have any idea where Gylledra had gone and it was concerning that wherever she’d gone, it had been _weeks_ ago. If anything had happened to Gylledra, Nasorya would most certainly go back to end the veteran orc. It would accomplish nothing, of course, but a tiny shred of vengeful satisfaction…and she didn’t care.

After making contact with the Nameless agents that remained in Orgrimmar, Nasorya had gained no new knowledge, though she was careful not to say Gylledra was missing, only that she wanted to speak with Pava, who they speculated was in Dalaran.

It was much easier and less expensive in Orgrimmar to get a portal to Dalaran, the troll mages were far more gracious because of their familiarity with Nasorya. The floating city itself seemed densely populated as it had become a base of operations for many in the fight against the Lich King and his rotting minions.

Nasorya sidled into a pub and claimed a booth, ordering a strong beverage, which, after dealing with Saurfang, she desperately needed. She felt genuinely sorry for the loss of Dranosh, he’d had so much potential, all the honor and strength of his father but with the added benefit of youth. The elder Saurfang had somehow seemed younger after the arrival of his son. Gylledra’s love for the decrepit old orc would always be something of a mystery, she thought unkindly.

It had been perhaps only half an hour when Pava entered the pub, giving a nod of greeting from the door.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Nasorya quipped.

“I wasn’t sure when you would be coming back, frankly I’m glad you have.” The orc smoothed back her hair, but looked anxious.

“You don’t know where she is either.” Nasorya gaped. Pava shook her head, her mouth pressed into a grim line for a moment before grabbing the drink on the table and draining its contents.

“Two more.” She waved at the bar tender who nodded.

“What the hell happened?”

“Reggie and I got to Warsong shortly after they’d gotten news of Dranosh. I’d never seen her like that, we didn’t see Saurfang for the rest of the day. She told us we’d need to keep things in order and manage the lieutenants’ meeting here in Dal. That was the last thing she said to me. We rose in the morning and she was gone, and Saurfang looked like he’d gotten even older overnight, I’ve never seen anyone so wrought with grief. He said nothing to us, we don’t even know what happened.” The drinks arrived and Pava emptied hers before the bartender, a haughty-looking high elf, even walked away.

“How about I make a pitcher, hm?” He asked, giving her a level look.

“Good idea.” She replied.

“I spoke with Saurfang earlier today.” Nasorya sipped her own beverage, glowering.

“And?” Pava’s eyes were wide, she was clearly under a lot of stress.

“He _told_ her to leave.”

“ _What?_ ” Disbelief washed over Pava and the pitcher of strong beverage arrived just in time. “But I thought they would…”

“So did I.” Nasorya shook her head sadly. “This will be a task for Reggie and his agents, not the soldiers. We need to find her, we can pretend things are fine for only so long. All of us _need_ her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be found? Shouldn’t we respect that?” Pava asked. Nasorya rolled her eyes though.

“This might come as a shock, but our fearless leader, on the few occasions it happens, is a bit of an idiot when sad.” She sighed and refilled her glass. “He should have just brought us straws.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra was as surprised to find herself on the stairs of the Temple of the Moon as Tyrande was. She didn’t even remember traveling to Darnassus and stared up at the high priestess standing over her for a long moment, trying to think of what to say.

“What did he do, Gylledra?” Tyrande asked knowingly, her voice quiet as she knelt down.

“He…” Gylledra didn’t feel like telling Tyrande the tale, knowing her hatred of orcs, there was no use adding fuel to that fire. “He wanted me to leave…so I did.” Her voice sounded strange she thought, and winced as a roiling pain coiled itself deep inside. “I think something happened on my way here…I don’t remember.” She grimaced again. “I am injured…”

“You are, but not in the way you think.” Tyrande sighed. “That fool.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t know about elves…but Elune brought you here; you may have been changed by magic, but we are still your people.” Gylledra said nothing, Tyrande’s voice seemed to fade and she felt herself being lifted, the faces of two Sentinels over her.

 

The passage of time felt different in Darnassus, the night elf city perched high in the branches of Teldrassil. The shorter-lived mortals treated time as a very finite thing, because for them it was, there was always the sense of being rushed, even when they were relaxing. It was not the same with elves, most of those around Gylledra now had lived for thousands of years, though the number who had seen for themselves the first Legion invasion seemed fewer than before. Despite Nordrassil’s severe damage and the loss of their immortality, time was much less of an object for them. Even before Teldrassil or the Well of Eternity, elves had a lengthy lifespan.

Gylledra had been given a simple room, it opened onto a terrace and each morning she rose, picked at her breakfast, and then sat in the lounge chair on that terrace, staring into forest. Some days, Tyrande came to sit with her and have a one-sided conversation about healing and the philosophy the elves now followed. She was trying to help…but more often than not, she wasn’t.

 

“Do you know why you were so sick when you came here?” Tyrande asked. Gylledra had been their guest for several weeks now. She looked over in surprise, this was a new direction of conversation. She shook her head, though. “Sometimes we feel too deeply. Of course, things like joy and love…there is never too much, an abundance of happiness serves only to make those around us happy as well. But sorrow, grief, loss, regret…there is great power in such emotions, often damaging, like poison.”

“Well, I have nothing to worry about then, I am numb.” She replied, lying to herself as much as to Tyrande.

“Your love for…”

“Tyrande, _don’t_.” Gylledra looked at her.

“However reluctant I am to admit it, your love was one of greatness, and it does not happen twice in a lifetime…for most it doesn’t even happen once.”

“Why would you bring that up? Why don’t you take a real dagger and slip it between my ribs? It would feel better.”

“Because you cannot be numb, Gylledra. You survived, and you must not shut out everything in the absence of one thing, however great it was. Apathy will kill you slowly, but it will kill you nonetheless.”

“Have you forgotten that I grieve for more than the separation from my mate? That his son, someone who I came to care for very much was ripped from this world, from all of us?”

“I have _not_ forgotten. Is the death of a loved one any less a loss of love than what you’re experiencing?” Tyrande rose. “You must feel your grief, but do not make your home in it, Gylledra. Azeroth still needs you.”

 

The visits ceased for a week or so as Gylledra begrudgingly mulled over what Tyrande had told her. The next time someone came, it was Malfurion who sat in the chair beside hers on the terrace. Gylledra braced herself for a lecture on the perils of arcane magic, but he remained silent. They sat in the quietness for the entire day and when he left, he merely gave her a nod then walked down the terrace and was gone. Oddly, she didn’t mind his company, she didn’t have to say anything…or even listen.

He returned two days after that and again, they sat in silence. He produced a small piece of wood and with a little knife he whittled away, bit by bit, and she watched, inexplicably fascinated. At the end of the day, he set the small wooden creature he’d created on the seat of the other chair and departed without a word.

Gylledra reached over and picked it up, feeling the texture of the wood with her fingers. It felt real, it was a tangible thing outside of herself. Of course, it existed, but the world around her had become little more than a painted picture to look at. Somehow, the archdruid knew it, and with just a simple thing, brought her back to the actual world just a little bit.

 

“Good morning.” Malfurion greeted, the following day. Typically, there was at least a day between visits and she was surprised to see him.

“Good morning.” She replied, the tiny wooden figure tucked in her hand. “Are you not tired of sitting here saying nothing all day?” He smiled and shook his head.

“We say plenty.” He sat back in the chair. “What have you seen, sitting here and watching all these days?”

“I suppose a blanket response of _the forest_ will not suffice?” She asked and with a small smile he shook his head. “I have watched the trees and the flowers turn and follow the sun each day, the routine of small furry creatures as they go about their work…there are two fawns that have gotten much bigger since I first sat here. Their entire world is just this small part of our vast world…and our vast world is only a small part of all the worlds that are out there.” She looked at him as he regarded her with interest.

“You have seen those worlds?”

“Many of them, yes. Mostly as they were being destroyed.” She sighed, turning to look again at the colorful forest. “Azeroth is my home, and she has a tenacity that I have seen nowhere else.”

“She?”

“Yes, she.” Gylledra gave a sly smile. Not everyone knew what she knew about the world. “Azeroth is the only one I swear my unfailing allegiance to.”

“You swear yourself to the world as though a sentient being?”

“You’re a druid, do you not believe that the world is a living thing? That it does not put forth that which sustains all who live here the same as any being caring for its children would?”

“I don’t deny that at all.” He replied. “It is only that I have not heard the world referred to that way before. I do think yes, that we are the children that have come from her.” There was a long stretch of silence as she mulled over what she knew was true, what the Titan Eonar had showed her very long ago. “Your dedication to eradicating the Legion, your fierce loyalty to this world…it reminds me of my brother.”

“Was he killed? I have heard not a single mention of his name.” Finally, Gylledra thought, a topic that would be uncomfortable for someone _besides_ her.

“He may as well have been.” Malfurion’s jaw clenched briefly. “Much happened that you didn’t witness as…”

“I did _not_ flee.” She snapped, perhaps a bit sharply and he looked at her, giving a nod.

“I know, none of us who knew you ever believed you had chosen willingly to be shielded from the battle. It did not take long for news to spread of what happened…” He sighed quietly. “There are many differences between you and my brother, however. The chaotic nature of magic consumed him, it made him hungry for more and he took the fel into himself, sacrificed the lives of many to get _more_ power, and he betrayed us.” Gylledra stared at Malfurion, her eyes wide.

“While part of me is stunned that Illidan betrayed the people he loves, I am also not so surprised that his hunger for more power consumed him and ultimately changed him.” She murmured.

“That hunger does not consume you, nor did it even then when the Highborne were so adamantly obsessed and addicted.” He went on.

“Well, my people became addicted.” Gylledra looked down and shook her head sadly. “It did not take long for food supplies to diminish and we took sustenance from the only place we could get it. Now, if one of us is away from the Nightwell, they will become fallen, and then withered into a mindless mana-starved husk.”

“Yet you are here, a very long way from it.” Beneath Malfurion’s caution there was some curiosity, of course.

“Yes, as I grew more proficient with shadow, someone much more powerful than myself from outside took notice and used his power to sever that dependence so that ordinary food and water would sate my needs once again.” She told him. “I visited many worlds touched by the Legion after that, I both saw and committed atrocities that I can never forget. I never saw one resist them as Azeroth has.”

“And when you returned, you took up arms with the orcs. They are not of this world, are they not some kind of poison or infection?” His question struck a nerve and she turned to him, eyes blazing.

“Does every mother’s child come from her womb? No, and no mother rejects a child that loves her, even that is not her own.” She spat. “Children squabble amongst themselves, Malfurion. I had several brothers and sisters I used to fight with.” His eyes had widened slightly at the biting tone in her voice. “I will not speak of orcs with _you_ …or anyone here.” Coldly, she looked away from him, no longer in the mood to socialize.

“My apologies, Gylledra.” He said quietly, before leaving her to her thoughts.

 

A number of days passed with no visitors and Gylledra began to wonder if anyone was going to come back or if her angry remarks had somehow driven them off. She’d have thought Malfurion would have thicker skin than that, but if that was the case, it didn’t make much sense considering she knew both Tyrande and Malfurion to be persistent to a fault.

She moved quietly down the terrace and looked around the corner where stairs led below. There were many people below, going about their business. It felt like an eternity since she’d last been around more than one person at a time. She’d accepted, though not at all happily, the events that brought her to Darnassus in the first place, but still felt little desire to figure out what she was going to do with herself now that she _again_ had no home. For a while she stood, watching all the lives being lived before retreating to her safe haven of solitude.

 

The morning that Malfurion strolled down the terrace carrying a very small child, Gylledra futilely looked for an escape route, nothing good could come of this. Elven children were quite rare, Gylledra hadn’t seen one since she’d lived in Suramar _before_ the shield. She could only surmise that in the years since they’d lost their immortality, it became more important to further their species.

“Good morning, Gylledra.” Malfurion sat with the child on his lap as though it was entirely the normal thing he’d been doing. She looked from the child to him dubiously.

“Is it?”

“I think so, yes.” He smiled. The little boy on his lap couldn’t have been more than three years old. He had a shock of blue hair that went in just about every direction, and a pale lavender complexion. He was very calm, with his hands in his lap.

“Well…alright then.” Gylledra fidgeted a little and the child looked at her, smiling. She was different enough from the night elves that most looked at her with caution, but a child did not. All elves, in her experience, had been highly suspicious of anyone and anything from outside their own people. In that moment it became clear that such behavior was taught, they weren’t innately mistrustful of those who were different.

She inhaled sharply as the child wriggled down from the archdruid’s lap and scaled her like a tree, kneeling on her legs. Malfurion looked amused, of course, and the child studied her face, reaching up to touch the silvery arcane markings that were scattered over her entire form.

“Shiny.” He murmured, poking her cheek.

“Erm…” Gylledra looked helplessly at Malfurion who offered no help at all.

“How did you get those?” The boy asked. She knew that talk of the arcane would certainly not go over well.

“Where I am from…it happens to those who live there a very long time.” She explained carefully.

“And these!” He swatted at the hoops in her ears then jammed a chubby little finger _almost_ into her nose as he pointed to the silver ring she still wore there.

“They were gifts…from a very different person…in a very different place.” She took his hands, gently lowered them from her face.

“Oh.” He turned and plopped himself onto her lap and she gave an _oof_ , he was heavy for such a small creature.

“Alright then.” She murmured again. It was obvious enough that this was some ploy devised by Malfurion and Tyrande to get her to interact. Really it could have been worse, he could have brought an adult who would try to interrogate her about her life and everything she’d done. He handed the boy a small book, which was opened at once.

“Look, it is a deer.” He pointed to the page then out to the woods where there were indeed some deer standing.

“Ah, so it is.” Gylledra replied, absentmindedly touching his soft blue hair. “What is your name?” His head whipped around, smiling brightly.

“Callaen.” He told her. “What is _your_ name?”

“Gylledra.”

“Hm.” He turned back to his book, repeating her name quietly to himself. When she looked over, she found the chair beside her empty, the archdruid halfway down the terrace already.

“Mal…Malfurion!” She called after him. “Whose child is this? What do I…do?” She thought she saw his shoulders shake with laughter before he turned the corner. Uncertain, she looked back down at Callaen.

“Will you read this?” He asked, pointing to a page with more text than the others.

“I…alright then.”


	4. Chapter 4

The blue-haired night elf child seemed content to be carried around by Gylledra, who was a total stranger to him. He sat easily on her hip as she made her way into the rest of Darnassus. She hadn’t left her room or porch since arriving, weeks before. Yes, this was _exactly_ what Malfurion had intended, he knew she wouldn’t simply keep the boy up there with her. She had no idea what to do about children

“Callaen, where do you live?” She asked him. He gave a wordless shrug, arms slung about her neck. “Mm. Helpful.” She muttered to herself and started down the path. “What is your mother’s or father’s name?” He shrugged again and she kept an eye out for any other children since most likely they’d be with their parents who would likely know who Callaen’s parents were. Silently, she cursed Malfurion.

Gylledra came to the marketplace and approached a stall where a friendly looking elf was selling what looked like some sort of baked good.

“Excuse me, do you know who this boy’s parents are?” She pointed to him and the woman stared at her like she was mad.

“Ah…no…sorry… _why_ do you have him?” She frowned.

“Because Malfurion thinks himself very clever.” Gylledra replied flatly. The vendor grinned then, apparently also thinking Malfurion clever.

“What’s clever?” Callaen piped up.

“It means smart…witty…like he knows a lot of things and a lot of ways to do a lot of things.” Gylledra explained to him without hesitation.

“Am I clever?” He turned his wide, bright eyes toward her expectantly.

“Yes, I suppose you are.” She gave a sigh, but smiled, looking to the vendor. “Sorry to bother you, the search continues.”

“Here, take this.” She held out a small pastry.

“Oh, I don’t have any money…”

“No charge…might as well stuff him with sweets before you give him back, right?” The vendor grinned again and Gylledra almost laughed outright.

“Brilliant.” She nodded. “Go ahead, Callaen, take it.” He reached out, beaming, and plucked it from the outstretched hand, immediately mashing it into his mouth and covering both of them in bits of flaky crust.

“Thk…ye…” Callaen said, mouth full, a spray of pastry crumbs flying out.

“You’re quite welcome, good luck on your search.”

No one seemed particularly bothered as Gylledra carried around a child that wasn’t hers through the streets of the city. Some smiled at her or nodded in greeting. As she came down to the Temple Gardens, Callaen started squirming and not knowing what else to do, she set him on the ground, half expecting him to run toward some pair of elves that might be his parents. Instead, he grabbed her hand, tugging her along as well as a three-year-old was able. Ahead, she saw them, four other elven children playing in the grass, giggling and chasing one another.

“Those are my friends.” He told her then unexpectedly dropped her hand and darted away. “Come play!” Gylledra stared, blinking after him for a second, bewildered before she started to follow.

“Callaen!” She called, thinking how livid his parents would be if she returned their son damaged in some way. Her tentative welcome in Darnassus would be quickly worn out no doubt, should some terrible thing happen. Suddenly there were five little faces staring up at her with bright, curious eyes. “Oh no…” She groaned quietly. The children ranged in age from Callaen’s age up to probably six.

“She’s shiny.” Callaen whispered to the girl beside him, near to his age. She was staring up, her hair pale green, bright eyes unblinking, and she touched her own cheeks where the arcane markings shone faintly on Gylledra’s.

“Where are you from?” One of the older children asked. There it was, the interrogation. The younger children were more preferred, she thought grumpily.

“Suramar.” She replied, noticing a few adult heads turn when she said it. Likely it had been thousands of years since anyone had uttered the name of her home amongst them.

“Where is that?” Another demanded.

“On the other side of this world.” It was important to choose her words carefully with children and adults alike listening to everything she said.

“Is that why you talk funny?” The same child asked.

“Talk funny…?” Gylledra frowned a little. It was probably true that she spoke with more complicated, perhaps differently-evolved intonations since the Nightborne spoke Shalassian. In thousands of years it had grown to be more academic and scientific, whereas the parent language, Darnassian, while also not the same as it had been, had a more organic, nature-like feel to it. “Ah…yes. Your language and mine are not _so_ very different, they were once the same, a very long time ago.” She was standing awkwardly over them then Callaen snatched her hand again, tugging at it until she finally knelt in the cool, soft grass. She sat back on her heels and they all plopped down in front of her. Immediately she was hit with a chorus of questions.

“How did you get here?”

“Do you like to eat fruit?”

“Are there more of you?”

“Why are you here?”

“Are you a druid?”

“Why do you have shiny marks on your skin?”

“Can you fly?”

“Hey!” She stopped them. “If you want to ask me things, do it one at a time, it is discourteous to shout questions at someone.” There were sheepish, giving her murmured apologies.

“What is your name?” A little girl asked quietly. “Please.”

“She is called Gylledra.” Callaen helpfully answered for her.

“Have you traveled a lot?”

“Yes, I have been all over this world and many others.” She told them.

“Other _worlds?_ ” Another squeaked, and Gylledra nodded. Their curiosity and enthusiasm was oddly delightful. She’d dealt primarily with adults all her life, people who were well beyond the wonder and enjoyment of simple existence.

“I…I have heard…my mother has said there is another world through a portal.” The girl closest to Callaen’s age piped up.

“Yes, there is such a place, it is now called Outland, but before it was known as Draenor.” She was careful to keep an eye on those who were nearby, lest they be concerned about her conversation topics.

“Do you meet many different people?”

“Yes, I…”

“Have you met any orcs?” The question was innocent enough, but Gylledra was not prepared for it and she felt just about every muscle in her body clenched.

“Yes, I have.” Her voice was quiet.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.” Not in the way this child meant, and not the orcs…just _one_ orc. “I was not harmed.”

“Why do you look so sad?” It was the eldest child, a girl, who seemed to have better observation skills than she would have thought.

“I think Gylledra has been bombarded with enough questions for one day.” Malfurion approached from behind as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. Quickly, Gylledra got to her feet, brushing herself off. A tall, lithe elf picked up Callaen, kindness and a smile on her face.

“I am Dira, Callaen’s mother. I hope he was not too much trouble…”

“Not at all, your son is lovely.” Gylledra replied pleasantly, reaching out to touch his soft hair as he beamed at her. “Thank you for…trusting.” Before anyone else could stop her to talk, she quickly turned and made her way back to the tiny, secluded sanctuary of her room.

 

* * *

 

For the first time since coming to Darnassus, thoughts about what her plans were for the immediate future swam through Gylledra’s mind. It wasn’t like her to flout her responsibilities and simply dump them on her subordinates. She felt bad about it but knew that at the time, she had _not_ been internally fit to effectively do her duty. She was very uncomfortable with the fact that her emotions had compromised her ability to lead, it would be something she would strive to amend. Wisdom, however, was knowing when to take a step back to prevent potential disaster. Though, it had been very irresponsible to tell no one where she had gone…then again, even she didn’t know where she was going to go when she left.

The pain, ever present, had at least dulled and was no longer the crippling, soul-rending wound it had been. She had stopped herself so many times from going back to Warsong Hold and refusing to be apart from Varok, whatever his grief was. But she never went, the risk for further heartbreak was too great and though she feared _very_ little…she was deeply afraid to succumb to the horrible reality that sometimes afflicted elves in deep states of sadness. She had too much to do, with or without Varok, to simply wither and die.

One more week…that was all she would give herself before letting the others know her whereabouts. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself solitude…or at least solitude relative to before when she had a dragon going everywhere with her and then…a mate.

Gylledra wiped angrily at her face as the tears welled up again, and she took deep breaths, pushing it down. One week…then she would get reports on the war in Northrend and she would lead the Nameless once more against the scourge and take great pleasure in doling out true death to the undead creatures she so despised.

 

The following morning, as Gylledra opened her door, she was met with a slightly larger group of children waiting for her. She looked down at them wondering just what the hell was going on as they stared up at her for a long minute.

“So, all your parents just…let you roam about the city unsupervised?” She asked them. Several exchanged looks but mostly the reply was shrugs. For the life of her she could not imagine why they were so interested in her, she knew next to nothing about any sort of…offspring.

“Do you have stories about the places you’ve been?” The eldest girl from the day before, the one who had asked why she was sad, was the one who spoke up.

“Um, yes…I suppose I do.”

“Will you tell us some?” The girl, it seemed, was their impromptu leader. Gylledra debated internally if she would humor the children or not. It occurred to her then that the best way to prevent these young and impressionable elves from becoming mistrustful and xenophobic toward different people would be to tell them of her adventures and dealings with all the many different worlds and races. She would simply leave out the orcs…for a multitude of reasons.

Though she was unaccustomed to dealing with children, Gylledra didn’t mind it so much as she thought she would, and in a very far-away, barely-acknowledged part of her mind, she wondered about what it would possibly be like to have her own. Of course that meant finding an elf to have a child _with_ and she wasn’t even remotely interested in that.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

Tyrande had been apprehensive from the moment she spotted Gylledra’s collapsed form on the temple stairs. They had not spoken in several years, not since the brief, moonlit meeting they had at Mt. Hyjal. She was concerned that the Nightborne had spent the time since then with the Horde, and having taken an orc as her mate was yet more troubling. But Tyrande was not heartless and Gylledra had arrived nearly broken, drawn to the place she subconsciously knew would take care of her, a place she seemed to trust not to turn her away. _That_ was meaningful, and Tyrande could not refuse someone in need who was putting that faith in her.

It was the millennia that Gylledra spent fighting the Legion that garnered Tyrande’s trust most of all, tentative as it was. Unlike the rest of the people in Suramar City, Gylledra had not cowered and abandoned everyone to protect herself. Tyrande had known her since she was a child and from then until now, she had never known deception to lie in Gylledra’s heart.

Using the children to pull her back from the brink of utter despair and into life once more had been Malfurion’s idea, one Tyrande fought him on before finally relenting to his persistence. It was shockingly effective and the children of Darnassus inexplicably flocked to the strange elf who had initially looked at her tiny admirers as though they might give her a disease.

The plan had worked, and Gylledra’s grim routine was changed. She stopped sitting on her terrace alone, staring into the forest feeding her woe. Instead, she had been found several days in a row in the Temple Gardens with the children, telling stories and playing games. Tyrande thought it was not unlike how Gylledra spent her own childhood, the younger children back then had also flocked to her, drawn in by the magnetism and natural leadership qualities she exuded.

“And you were worried.” Malfurion chuckled. They were well out of the way, watching from afar as Gylledra was moving different colored stones around in the grass in what looked suspiciously like military formations whilst giving animated description, the children listened, rapt. If she had to guess, Tyrande suspected that she was telling them battle stories and strategies. Strange things to talk to children about, but chances were that there was little else Gylledra knew.

“I still am.” Tyrande sighed. “There is much about her we don’t know. She has respected our laws by refraining from using the arcane here, but it still courses through her like her own lifeblood. She is wholly made by the arcane, and knowing that, I know she will never choose remain here permanently.”

“She _is_ still a soldier; that much is clear.” He mused, stroking his beard. “I cannot see her retiring from that, not when the Legion has not been entirely defeated. When was she ever content after a battle won, but the war was not?”

“Yes, I know.” Tyrande looked at her mate. “She was thought very odd back then, she is no less unusual now…the very picture of kindness and compassion, yet with the inexplicable thirst for war…not to mention the great skill she has with it.”

“If I thought she would truly give up support for the orcs, I would seek to convince her…” Malfurion was cut off as Tyrande grabbed his arm.

“Who is _that_?” She hissed, watching a figure trudging down the path toward the gardens. It was female, but she had a strange, ashen complexion, dark violet hair and…horns.

“That’s…” Malfurion craned his neck. “I think it is her dragon companion, she must have gotten word somehow that Gylledra is here. _Her_ trustworthiness I am not certain of, it would be best to intercede just in case.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

Only a handful of night elves were part of the Nameless, and Nasorya had been at her wit’s end by the time she finally received the unsigned note in Darnassian indicating that if she was looking for someone, she should look in Darnassus. The small, scribbled symbol at the bottom implied it was one of their own who was tattling on their general. Nasorya didn’t care, it was the first bit of _good_ information regarding Gylledra she had come across and immediately set out for Teldrassil.

Entering Darnassus was much easier as a dragon, having the convenient ability to fly and circumvent the Sentinel guards. Though, trudging purposefully through the city in her horned, humanoid form was gathering her quite a few shocked, confused looks. She wasn’t sure where to find Tyrande or Malfurion, who would naturally be the first ones to go to regarding whether or not Gylledra had been there.

The place seemed sickeningly peaceful and harmonious for as chaotic and worried as Nasorya was inside. On any other day, she might have found the place pleasant. There was a burst of children’s laughter and she rolled her eyes, glancing in the direction it came from. She halted with a jarring abruptness, staring at a nearly unrecognizable Gylledra in an open space in what looked like city gardens. She was kneeling in the grass in a simple, pale blue, flowing dress, with her dark hair undone and tumbling over her shoulders down her back. The laughter was coming from the children who were _surrounding her_ as she _smiled_ and spoke to them.

“ _Gylledra?!_ ” She shrieked, wondering just how broken Saurfang’s stupidity had made her. Gylledra looked up, startled, eyes widening. A small sea of tiny faces immediately turned upward to look at her as well.

“Nas…” Gylledra stood, brushing bits of grass from her skirt.

“Is she the dragon?!” One of the children asked excitedly as they all watched in fascination. Nasorya stared down at the child who had asked, completely taken aback as she moved between horror and relief. Gylledra turned back to them, thinking quickly.

“Yes, she is…but we have some important business to attend to, I will see if perhaps later she might say hello to you all, but for now I think it would be best if you all went home for some lunch. No arguing.” She told them, and though disappointed, in a few moments, they’d lumbered off without much more than quiet grumbling as they cast glances back over their shoulders.

Whilst the children departed, none other than Tyrande and Malfurion arrived looking perhaps mildly concerned but attempting to maintain an air of calm.

“What the hell is going on, Gylledra?” Nasorya demanded and gestured at her garb spluttering for a second. “Did they make you into some tree-hugging nature-child druid?” Out the corner of her eye she saw Malfurion bristle and she turned to him before Gylledra could reply. “Can it, leader of the tree-hugging-nature-child druids.” She snapped. “I’m a dragon and your tree is made of _wood_.” His jaw clenched but he said nothing even as Tyrande narrowed her eyes.

“Nasorya, stop…”

“What were you doing with their children?!”

“Nasorya…”

“We have been searching for you for _months!_ ” She was practically yelling.

“Please keep your voice down!” Tyrande hissed.

“Keep your _hair_ down, pastel princess!”

“Damn it, Nasorya.” Gylledra grabbed her arm, forcing Nasorya to look at her instead of continuing to argue and insult the leaders of the night elves.

“No, Gylledra, I’m angry for a good reason, you don’t get to tell me to calm down because your tree-elf friends might be offended!” She snapped.

“Could we please have a few moments?” Gylledra asked the now-ruffled night elves. Begrudgingly they turned and headed off, Nasorya childishly making a face after them. “Nas, I don’t even know how I got here. The last thing I remember is packing my bags and then waking up on the temple steps.”

“I cannot understand _why_ he would tell you to leave.” Nasorya deflated somewhat.

“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That alone was bad enough but also Dranosh…” She stopped when the look on Gylledra’s face made it plain she was in no mood to discuss those details. “Pava has been frantically trying to keep things in order _and_ not let on that we had no idea where you were.”

“Obviously I was in no state to be making decisions as a military leader, I had _that_ much sense.” Gylledra sighed.

“So you ended up here…and now you’re…spending time with children. So, do you not have any sense back yet, or?” Nasorya was aware that they were being watched by citizens of Darnassus as well as Sentinels from a distance.

“Children at least aren’t _trying_ to kill each other.” Gylledra glanced around, just as aware of who was watching them as Nasorya was.

“Well, have you tried giving them sharp sticks to see what happens? I bet you’d be surprised.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

 

Gylledra wondered silently as they made their way to her quarters, just _how_ Nasorya had tracked her down. It was a foolish question though, she’d trained all her people to find individuals who did not wish to be found.

“Anger aside, I _am_ very glad you’re not dead.” Nasorya began at once when the door was shut. She then grabbed Gylledra in a crushing hug that made her feelings threaten to surface.

“I am sorry anyone was worried, but I just couldn’t…and even now I don’t particularly want to discuss any of it. Not yet.”

“I understand.” Nasorya released her and stepped back. “I know better. So! Both the Horde and Alliance are close to sending their elite to assault Icecrown Citadel itself. The scourge, of course is unending and both factions have lost large numbers. I think for the final attack, they will need _us_ to hold the scourge back, to keep them from decimating what ground forces remain.”

“How bad are our own losses?”

“Not so bad as the others.” Nasorya replied. “We’ve got a temporary base of operations in Dalaran we’ve been working out of since…” She cleared her throat a little awkwardly. “It isn’t much but it works.”

Gylledra pulled out some sheets of paper from her small desk and began scribbling down her orders. “We will mobilize as many troops as we can, call them forth from every corner, even the reserves.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone. We will flood Icecrown with soldiers faster than they can raise the dead.” Gylledra folded the dispatch and stuffed it in an envelope, closing it with her seal. “Give this to Pava. I will be back in Dalaran in a few days to start going over plans.” Nasorya looked very relieved.

“Good…she will be glad to hear it.” She said, taking the envelope. “You’ll be alright though?”

“I managed to survive seeing most of my family tortured before my eyes.” Gylledra softened somewhat, knowing how worried those who cared for her had likely been. “I will survive this too. I’m not at my best but there are things much more important going on that deserve my attention.”

 

The children were disappointed that Gylledra was leaving, but to appease them, before Nasorya left, she met them in her true form since the children had never met a dragon before. She understood then, despite her overall opinion of children, why Gylledra had spent so much time with the little ones: their innocence was uplifting. Tyrande and Malfurion extended their welcome should Gylledra ever need to return, and she suspected she might and was grateful for their hospitality. She of course had not told them what exactly she was leaving for, only that she intended to help with the war, and to her relief they didn’t ask for more information than that.

The rest of the world was unchanged as Gylledra had allowed her misery to consume her and she was almost bothered that everything was still exactly the same. _Her_ world was entirely upside down and shaken; things of great importance had been ripped from her, but the rest of the world carried on, unconcerned.

Dalaran bustled in all its pastel glory as Gylledra tried to keep the scowl off her face, trudging through the streets. The place Pava was using for their headquarters was little more than a large room in an inn. For an organization as expansive as hers had become, it was somewhat disgraceful, she thought, to have no _real_ base of operations.

Around a table, arguing, were Pava, Nasorya, Reggie, Andreus Croy, Ja’ven, the night elf Mawen Ravenfire, and Gylledra’s long-time friend from Ironforge, Rook Coldrock. The moment she shut the door, the arguing ceased and they all turned to look at her, wide-eyed, as though they’d expected her not to come. She suspected it was probably through Mawen’s connections that her location had been discovered.

“Good morning.” She greeted and was met with a sudden barrage of greetings and sounds of relief. “What seems to be the trouble?” She looked down at the table at the various maps, their notes, and scribbled arrows.

“We were disagreein’ on how best tae send in the troops, either the folks of each faction goin’ in with their own, fillin’ out their ranks, or if there’s some other way of integratin’ into the foray without causing much fuss.” Rook explained.

“There is no integration this time.” Gylledra told them. “We have lurked in shadow and fought as ghosts, which _has_ been effective. But this world needs to know there is a force that will serve all of Azeroth no matter what banner they stand behind.”

“Dat be goin’ against not seekin’ glory, no?” Ja’ven frowned.

“No, we have been called the Nameless by those who _have_ noticed us. In armor, we are still unknown, and I mean for it to stay that way. We will never seek praise or recognition, there is no glory except for that which we hold in our own hearts, knowing we fight for the good of this world.” She watched their faces, searching for any disagreement, but found only resolve and acceptance of her words. “We will continue to stay out of the political altercations between factions, if they want to blow themselves to smithereens fighting over land and wrongs done, then that is their prerogative. I have read the briefings of what’s transpired since I left and it seems that tensions are growing again between the Horde and Alliance. After what happened at Angrathar…” She paused very briefly at the unpleasant pang of grief. “There will be more war as Varian blames the Horde. I have my own suspicions as to who is truly responsible, but that is neither here nor there. The Nameless will play no part in it..”

 

* * *

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* * *

 

 

The Alliance skyship _Skybreaker_ and the Horde zeppelin gunship _Orgrim’s Hammer_ had been barely sharing the sky over Icecrown, and as plans to fully assault the Lich King himself were solidified they’d been hovering closer and closer to the citadel, pointedly ignoring one another. The Scourge below had begun to swarm again, both factions’ troops were thin on the ground at best and they’d all lost many soldiers. It would take either side _days_ for enough reinforcements to arrive and it seemed the Lich King knew how close his enemies were to launching their final attack.

Significant progress had been made weakening Corp’rethar, the final gate of the citadel’s defense before Icecrown Citadel but the sudden scourge onslaught was compromising all the work that had been done. Those on the skyships all stared over the railings, looking down at what might very well be their undoing.

“Captain! We have to do something!” One of the Skybreaker gunners shouted. The captain, Justin Bartlett, was at a loss, there weren’t enough soldiers aboard or enough firepower on just their ship alone to give sufficient aid. Even if the Horde felt inclined to assist, two ships were not going to be enough.

There was a strange sound in the distance, like drums from below, and it was growing nearer by the moment. The deep sound thrummed and it was almost as though the air itself vibrated with each strike, the louder it got.

“Look below! What is that?!” A deck hand screeched and all those on deck moved to the starboard side, to look straight down. Not far away, aboard Orgrim’s Hammer, orcs and trolls, among others, were also lining their rail, looking down. Captain Bartlett leaned over and across the Valley of Fallen Heroes, marched an expansive army none of them had seen before. They were in full, gleaming plate armor, all exactly the same. The helms, designed to be plain metal faces, completely obscured who they were. They carried no identifiable banner, and no leader rode at the front ahead of the cavalry.

The Scourge had noticed and at once a wall of them surged toward the unknown army below. Horde and Alliance alike could only stare down in stunned silence, watching as the marching soldiers moved forward and tore through scourge with unsettling ease. Startled cries drew the captain’s attention back upward as suddenly hundreds more of the soldiers streaked by on the backs of blue proto-drakes. The wind from their wings rocked the ships and a moment after they had passed, the two looming vessels were pulled together, sending all who were aboard both into a frenzy of shouting, aiming bows and rifles and hurling various insults and accusations.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, BARTLETT!” Saurfang, the commander of Orgrim’s Hammer roared at him.

“ _I_ am as surprised as _you_ , Orc! This is not our doing! What mages do _you_ have below deck?” Captain Bartlett shot back, but a shadow moved overhead and a figure dropped down, landing deftly on the rails of the now off-kilter ships. She wore the same armor as the soldiers below, though a bit more ornate. Without even saying a word, her presence commanded silence. Across the way, the very strange look on Saurfang’s face made the captain even more uneasy. The expression was a cross between seeing a ghost and getting kicked in the balls. The metal face of her helm turned toward Captain Bartlett.

“I am the General of the Nameless Army. It is my soldiers who fight below to clear the way so that those chosen to infiltrate the citadel can put an end to Arthas once and for all.” She explained, her voice sounding strange and layered with power. “We do not fight for you…” She turned and looked at Saurfang. “Or for you.” There was a pause until she finally looked down across those still standing along the railings. “We fight for all of Azeroth, and I have already sent word to Warsong Hold, Valiance Keep, and Dalaran. The time to strike is nigh and no more time can be wasted. Each one of you who falls is raised by him, his army grows as your troops deplete. Be ready!”

The hold on the ships, whatever it was, released and the Nameless General leapt from her perch, landing neatly atop her drake just below. Captain Bartlett looked to Saurfang again, who gripped the railing, staring after her, and he was left with the distinct feeling that the old orc knew exactly who she was.

The mysterious general dropped off her dragon again into the midst of the scourge, letting out a dark, rippling shockwave that knocked everything within several yards back away from her. In her hands appeared a scythe, its blade rippling purple and bright blue as she mowed down the risen enemies. Saurfang watched her with a mixture of concern and pain on his face but looked up and saw Captain Bartlett looking, casting him what would have definitely been a fatal glare if looks could kill.


	5. Chapter 5

The bright, emerald hills of Nagrand did nothing to lighten the grief bearing down on Gylledra. She watched from afar, weeping without restraint as Dranosh’s pyre burned. No one knew she was there, not even the dispatch of Nameless comprised of both Horde and Alliance she had sent to accompany Varok on the solemn trek from Azeroth to Outland. He had not turned the escort away, though she had half expected him to, and it was unclear if that meant some shred of hope for them, or if he simply didn’t care about anything enough to refuse or accept them. The longing to be back with him, to comfort him and take comfort from his presence--from his touch had not ceased from the moment she left Warsong Hold.

To add insult to injury, the Lich King had taken Dranosh’s body and raised him to become a Death Knight, forcing those who might have once fought at his side to kill him once again. Despite the horror of it, Varok was now able to bury his son with honor, the way he deserved.

Unhappiness was exhausting and not for the first time Gylledra wondered if there was something to the notion that ignorance is bliss. Had she pushed down her urges, desires, and feelings, she might not be in this position, she might not be riddled with grief and heartbreak. The other side to that, however, was that she would also then have never experienced the joy of love, or have built the many friendships she had over the recent years. Even if this misery was the price to pay, she could not bring herself to wish it had not happened.

She had found some reprieve in Darnassus, and fully intended to return there and use the peace she felt there to center herself again, to deal with what she felt and keep it from poisoning her as she still had much to do. The Nameless had been victorious in their efforts to waylay the scourge, and the leaders of Azeroth knew of them now, that was enough. Their work would continue and they would lie in wait for any threat, but for the Legion in particular.

 

* * *

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* * *

 

 

The fire had long since burned down to cinder. All that remained of Dranosh was ash and Saurfang had stood vigil until the flames had gone out and ash was being gently carried off as the wind blew. He knew he wasn’t alone, _she_ was there…somewhere, even if he could not see her, the wind caught the barest hint of her scent, which he would know anywhere. The soldiers she had sent with him stood for more than only her support, they had come from both factions and represented the great respect and honor both sides gave to his son’s sacrifice. Though he greatly wished to thank Gylledra for that, he knew he would not have the chance, certainly not this night, if ever.

Believing Saurfang to have left, Gylledra emerged from seemingly nowhere, dressed in her leathers, and she pulled back her hood. Her face was drawn and she seemed…not defeated…but certainly diminished. She had been crying, her cheeks shone with wetness as well as the arcane markings. There was a twisting pain deep inside him as he thought of the last time he saw her cry, that day in Warsong Hold…in her many thousands of years of life, she had shed more tears because of him than she had for any other reason. For that, he felt that the expanding void in his heart left by her absence had been earned by his thoughtlessness, and widened farther by the loss of his son. He’d never deserved her love in the first place, and even after years together he’d marveled that she saw worthiness in him at all.

Gylledra stood silently before the burnt remains of someone who had been her friend; Dranosh had valued her thoughts and opinions; he had seen the wisdom in her counsel, just as his father did. It had been selfish and ignorant to overlook her grief. She reached out, her fingers moving through the ashes until she found the one remaining coal that still glowed and closed her fist around it, squeezing. Saurfang knew well that there were times in which physical pain was grounding, and somehow felt better and more real than the abstract emotions that were grief and sadness.

“The world is not better without you in it, my friend.” Gylledra spoke quietly in orcish. “I do not mean that your death was without honor, I know you died in a way you would have wished for yourself…that your father would have wished for you.” She hung her head and her shoulders slumped. Somehow, she seemed smaller all of a sudden, then she sat down in the grass cross-legged, looking at the coal in her hand, her skin around it blackened and burnt. “But it was far too soon…perhaps it is selfish, but we need you _here_. Your father most of all.” She gave a small, mirthless laugh. “He’s lost his damned mind without you.” Gylledra wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. “And now because of that, I am without him.”

Saurfang felt guilty for eavesdropping, he didn’t know if she sensed his presence or not, either way she did not seem to care. He wanted to step out and gather her up in his arms and beg her forgiveness so they could ease one another’s burden once more, as they always had.

“I do not begrudge you the honor or glory your death brought.” The pitch of her voice was higher as she grew more upset. “But I am angry that you died…I lost my friend. With you went Varok’s happiness…and with his happiness went mine. It is selfish…but I long to be happy again, and I fear I cannot be.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra made it three entire days back in Darnassus before the children were waiting for her in the morning. She never thought she’d find herself glad for them or the distraction they brought her, but they were more welcome now than ever, she found. This time, her subordinates knew where she was and without an urgent war pressing, most of the Nameless soldiers were going about their normal lives. The usual network of information-gatherers was still managed and overseen by Reggie and Pava who ensured all reports got back to Gylledra.

The relative calm that followed the downfall of the Lich King was short lived, disrupted the night Deathwing tore himself from Deepholm, violently reforging the very face of Azeroth. It seemed as though no sooner had the Nameless been given leave, that they were recalled again, only this time their tasks were very different. The magnitude and volume of damage was nearly incomprehensible and Gylledra had to work fast, teleporting to various places to get supplies and her soldiers moving to get aid out to those who were in need. Easing the burden of the newly homeless, displaced, and injured would allow for the Horde and Alliance leaders to formulate and execute their plans to deal with the new threat.

The shattering had opened up the walled, human nation of Gilneas for attack from the Forsaken, but also, they were afflicted with the Worgen curse. Ships and aid sailed from Darnassus to the remaining humans and Worgen who were barely hanging on by a thread. Gylledra and the squadron of night elven children had watched in silence as hundreds of Gilnean refugees poured from the portal that led to the Rut’theran village and docks. It was her understanding that for some reason, the night elves felt in part responsible for the curse that now ran rampant through the humans of Gilneas, and so they had offered refuge to those from the now homeless nation. Sylvanas Windrunner, a name that made Gylledra’s skin crawl, was on the lips of those who arrived; she had attacked Gilneas as the gates fell, ultimately blighting the land and fired the arrow herself that killed King Greymane’s son…another young male cut down too soon.

Despite never actually meeting her, the undead elf had earned Gylledra’s mistrust early on, but after she spread her plague on Alliance and Horde alike at Angrathar, the mistrust had evolved into full-blown loathing. Her and her undead Forsaken were part of the Horde, but did not seem to belong there. Though it was an uncharitable thought, Gylledra felt very strongly that the entire lot of them should have been doused in fuel and set alight, removed from the horde like a fly from ointment.

It was a good example to set for the children of Darnassus, allowing the Gilneans in. Gylledra had been trying to impart on them the importance accepting those who were different. She didn’t miss the irony…or perhaps the hypocrisy of seeking to teach tolerance when she believed the undead had no place in Azeroth. It was strange to think _she_ had somehow become a daily mentor for the Darnassian youth.

The children were in the midst of creating creatures from twine and twigs to use in the little forts they’d built from stones and other found material. Gylledra felt someone watching and glanced over her shoulder to see two small Gilnean children, a boy and a girl looking on.

“Hello.” She greeted, smiling. The little boy with brown eyes and white-blond hair gave a shy wave. The girl had long, mousy brown hair with the same brown eyes.

“Can…can we play?” She asked.

“Yes, of course, come sit here…we’re building forts and making things to live in them.” She explained. They came forward somewhat cautiously and sat down, uncertain of what to do, but it was Callaen who came to the rescue, leaping to his feet with an excited gasp.

“I will help!” He cried then pitched head-first over his own creation, knocking it over as he tripped and landed in the grass. Without missing a beat, he scrambled back to his feet, grabbing an armful of his ruined fort and dumping it in front of the Gilnean children. With two more trips, he’d moved all his supplies and plopped down.

“What are your names?” Gylledra asked them.

“Ana. My brother is Roy.”

“I am Callaen.” He reached over the pile of rubble, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously. “I saw Gilneans doing this the other day when they met.” He explained, still shaking her hand and finally, she smiled. Roy stuck his hand out for his handshake and Callaen happily obliged.

A half hour or so passed before a nervous looking Gilnean woman appeared, wide-eyed, and upset. Her posture seemed to relax, though, upon spotting the children. Gylledra carefully left the tiny architects to their own devices and approached her.

“Are you Ana and Roy’s mother?” She asked. The woman nodded, looking up at her.

“Yes, I couldn’t find them…are they troubling you? W…why are there so many children here?” She blinked, frowning a little.

“They aren’t a bother at all, any of the children are welcome if they like. Most days they come out here to play. If any stray children are spotted about, they seem to be gently herded this direction, so most parents know to come here to acquire their errant young.” Gylledra went on.

“And who are you?”

“I am Gylledra Alenos. Not unlike yourself, I am a guest here and the children seem to like me. Darnassus is a good place to come in the wake of tragedy, I have found.”

“You are a refugee as well?” The woman seemed more at ease.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I lost loved ones and was displaced from my home, though perhaps not the same as what happened to Gilneas. I can say with some certainty that this is a good place for those who are wounded to heal.” Gylledra smiled kindly and finally, the woman smiled back. Her children were giggling, and it was likely she hadn’t had much hope for happiness again.

 

The gathering of children at the Temple Gardens had become expansive enough that Gylledra was not the only adult who attended the children there. As more Gilnean children began coming, there were two or three of their parents that would accompany them some days, in addition to the night elves. It was a relief for Gylledra to not bear the responsibility alone, she did sometimes like having other things to do.

 

On one such day, she’d elected to walk in the forest in part for the peace, but also in part out of curiosity since the Worgen primarily wandered that part of the woods and hunted there to stave off boredom or to just get away. One prowled behind her, well out of reach but he was following her, slowly drawing nearer.

“Good morning, your highness.” She greeted without looking back.

“Keen senses even for a night elf.” He commented, his voice changing somewhat halfway through the sentence as he slid from his Worgen form to human.

“I am not a night elf.” Gylledra glanced back at the king, Genn Greymane. He wore torn breeches and a loose linen shirt. Though older, he was still in good form.

“Hm. It seems not. Should you not be afraid to walk the forest alone?” He asked.

“I’ve faced far worse than Worgen.” She peered into his eyes, assessing him. He was tall for a human, but she was short for an elf.

“I heard you’ve been kind to our children.” Greymane folded his arms.

“I am kind to all children.”

“If you are not a night elf, how is it you came to herd their flock of young?”

“I came to Darnassus after a particularly difficult…incident, Tyrande and Malfurion have been helpful and welcoming.” She told him. The question was on his face already so she answered before he could ask. “My mate…his son fell to the Lich King and the loss was so great to both of us, even though he was not _my_ son, he was my friend and I loved him anyway.” Gylledra cleared her throat. This was the most she had said about the entire ordeal to anyone, she wouldn’t have guessed it would be to someone she barely knew. “But in his grief, my mate told me to go. He didn’t want to have anyone else that he might lose…so, I went, though I should not have.” The grizzled king seemed to soften somewhat then.

“Having just lost my boy, I understand the urge to grieve alone, to push all others out, but it is a foolish urge he was foolish to act upon.” He told her.

“Yes, I thought as much. I had hoped he would…change his mind.” She looked down at her hands, fidgeting somewhat, feeling a pang of raw, insistent sadness.

“I imagine he has, and if I were in such a predicament, I would probably believe I’d caused irreparable damage that wouldn’t merit forgiveness.”

“I could see him feeling that way.”

“Who is he? Is he here?”

“No.” She gave a small laugh, knowing what she said next might not be well received. “He is an orc.” The king’s mouth fell open.

“You’re _Horde_?” He almost recoiled from her.

“No, but neither am I Alliance.”

“So then, you walk the line between factions, friends with everyone…?”

“Not everyone.”

“Is Sylvanas Windrunner amongst your _friends_?” His eyes narrowed and Gylledra shook her head, disgust plain on her face.

“Certainly not. As for the undead, I believe they should have _remained_ dead. We have one life and one death. It was wrong for the Lich King to raise them, and for those whose minds were freed of his control, I would not actively hunt them, seeking to end them…their end will come.”

“But…?”

“But Sylvanas seeks to make _more_ undead, and _that_ I do not agree with. It would be a great favor to this world, I feel, if she were taken out of it.”

“Ah.” Greymane nodded and gave a small smile. “We will get on well enough then.”

“I should hope so.” She returned the smile. “I am always happy to make new friends.”

“Your kindness and compassion toward my people have garnered you a friend, indeed.”

“I am happy to hear it.”

“We’re on the hunt for food, so I must go.” Without another word, he shifted to his lupine form again and was gone into the trees.

 

* * *

 

 

For Greymane and the Gilneans to rejoin the Alliance, all internal factions needed to agree unanimously to accept them. Between receiving regular reports and simply being in the right place at the right time in Darnassus, Gylledra had been made aware that King Varian Wrynn seemed to staunchly oppose the readmission of Gilneas to the Alliance. He wasn’t entirely out of line considering that when Stormwind needed aid, Greymane locked his people away behind a wall and refused.

Tyrande and Malfurion had organized a summit in Darnassus for the leaders to gather, talk, and determine if Gilneas would be, or _should_ be welcome. Gylledra made herself scarce during the preparations for it all, it was Alliance politics, which she wanted _no_ part of.

Representatives from Theramore, the three clans of dwarves, and the gnomes had all come. Gylledra watched curiously from afar. She was avoiding involvement, but couldn’t pass up an opportunity to gather information when it was so readily available. It was a surprise when the draenei prophet Velen arrived, and the banquet went without much of note until the fashionably late arrival of Varian Wrynn and his entire entourage. There were some strong words between the two human kings as Stormwind insulted Gilneas repeatedly. Gylledra had never seen Varian before, living in Orgrimmar gave her little cause to be in the Alliance capital.

The king certainly met every description Gylledra had ever heard given of him from any side. He was every inch a warrior, his temper at the ready. There were scars across his face and his dark hair was pulled back and up. He had an air of arrogance and obvious disdain for Greymane. It made her curious about whether he was that insufferable _all_ the time or only when trying to provoke someone.

“Enjoying the show?” A night elf asked beside Gylledra. She’d heard him prowling around and though he’d likely expected to startle her, she didn’t flinch.

“It’s certainly been interesting.” She murmured. When she finally glanced over, she _was_ surprised to see a face she knew but had not seen in a very long time.

“So, you _do_ remember me.” Rell Nightwind gave her a level look.

“You’re the only night elf I ever chased through the back alleys of Orgrimmar and tackled; not something easily forgotten.” She told him.

“What are you doing here?” He wasn’t giving off a particularly friendly vibe and gathering by the black leather he wore and the fact she had not seen him before Varian’s arrival, she guessed he worked for SI:7, the human king’s own intelligence operation.

“Watching a debacle unfold before my eyes.” She nodded in the direction of the banquet.

“Do Tyrande and Malfurion know there is a Horde spy in their midst?” His frown deepened.

“Asked the _spy_.” She smirked, folding her arms. “You’ll be hard pressed to believe it I’m sure, but I’m not a spy, and if you’re asking if they are aware that I lived amongst the Horde for the better part of a decade, _yes_ , they are aware. I’ve kept nothing from them.”

“I intend to speak with them to verify.”

“Do as you will, Rell, I am a guest here.” She turned in time to see Stormwind’s king and those accompanying him trudge off in another direction.

“What does your orc think of you lingering with the Alliance?” The tone with which he asked, unexpectedly sent Gylledra tumbling headfirst into rage and her head snapped around to look at him.

“I spared your life once, elf, do not test whether I will do so again.” She hissed in reply. Rell’s face changed entirely, taken aback by the unexpected outburst, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak as she left him standing there alone.

She’d been wanting to speak with Velen, knowing how strong his connection was to the light, and he found her in the temple gardens, approaching quietly from behind. Though they had never met, she glanced back at him with a small smile as if they were old friends.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Gylledra.” He told her, coming up beside her.

“Likewise, Velen.”

“I have seen you in vision numerous times.”

“I thought perhaps the fact I use the Void would steer you and your Light clear from me.” Gylledra regarded him with interest but remained guarded.

“To wield opposing forces does not mean one is good and one is evil, it does not mean that one thing is right, and the other is wrong.” He replied. “The Light and the Darkness both can be used to harm, there are many who forget that. They are raw, opposing forces just as fire and water are. Water may quench thirst and give life to things that grow, but it may also drown and choke. Fire may consume and destroy, but also it may warm the chill from your bones or cook a meal for your belly.”

“I wish more saw it that way.”

“The difficulty is in how complicated and unwieldly the shadow can be. It is powerful and corruptive, and I have not before met one such as yourself, who has not succumbed to the whispers.”

“If I knew precisely why, I would tell you.” Gylledra offered. “But I don’t know why, only that it bends to my will, not I to it. I stood in the presence of C’Thun three years ago, I spoke with it and for the first time in my life I heard the things that drive so many to madness, the things that can consume and corrupt. It took nearly two years for the nightmares to cease, and I am not surprised that with the events in the last year, they have started again.”

“I hope that you will find peace in sleep again soon.”

“Thank you…”

“What did you think of today’s proceedings?” He changed the subject, watching her as closely as she watched him.

“I think that the whole of Azeroth is in grave danger with Deathwing on the loose, that all balance has been upset and that the two most powerful factions of this world have much conflict both without and within.” She replied. “As for what I just saw here, there is turmoil and things to be atoned for by _both_ kings.”

“I agree.” The two of them stood, looking into the gardens in silence for several moments before Gylledra spoke again, though now her voice was quiet, her gaze distant as she let herself move through her own memories from long ago.

“You were Eredar once, you knew Archimonde before he was a pawn of Sargeras.”

“I thought I did.”

“I watched him die.” She whispered. “He tortured me…numerous times…I find it interesting that so great an evil such as Sargeras was not able to sway _you_ from your people as he swayed the others.”

“He was seduced by the promise of power by dark forces so much larger than ourselves.” Velen sighed.

“The fel…but it was not _the_ Darkness. The Void has made it so that I take great pleasure from the feel of my blade driving through my enemy, I relish the look in their eyes as their life fades away and somehow it ignites my own, surely that is a darkness not to be trusted.”

“You fight so that life may endure, I could not entirely begrudge the pleasure derived from ending those who would seek to destroy everything with meaning.”

“I allowed myself to love, it was the greatest goodness I have ever known, now that it has been taken from me, I have seen a darkness deeper and more dangerous than any I have known before. And now I am more at risk than ever to simply slip into it and let the Darkness carry me off.”

“Yet it has not, you endure for a great goodness other than your own heart.” The knowing look in his eyes made her suspect that he was aware of the work she did.

“Yes…but with a hollow heart, everything seems…gray.”

“When the color returns, it will be that much brighter because you knew the gray.”

 

Not feeling ready to be confined to her rooms for the night, Gylledra wandered the city a little aimlessly. Her rooms were very near to where those from Stormwind were quartered and she headed out to the wooded patch behind the structure only to happen upon someone unexpected in the moonlight. It was Varian who whirled to look back at her as the plants rustled beneath her feet. She froze.

“Oh…sorry, didn’t realize anyone else was out here…I’ll go.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, turning to depart.

“Are you here to convince me to change my mind or berate my handling of the Gilneas situation?” He narrowed his blue eyes at her and Gylledra gave a half-scoff half-laugh.

“No, I have nothing to do with Alliance politics.”

“Then you may stay.”

“Oh, how generous of you, king I’ve never met or been subject to, I was certainly looking to bask in your presence.” She folded her arms as he blinked, not expecting an acidic response.

“Then go.”

“No, I think now I will stay; I’d like to irritate you some more.”

“What?” The bewildered and angry expression on his face alone was worthwhile entertainment.

“It can’t be worse than people harping on you about Gilneas, can it?” She gave a half smile as Varian took a closer look at her.

“I presume you’re the alleged spy that was brought to my attention.”

“Alleged.” She rolled her eyes. “What did he tell you?”

“What do you think I was told?” Was Varian’s clever reply.

“I’m sure you were told that I lived in Orgrimmar.” She replied.

“Perhaps.”

“As I told your SI:7 agent, Malfurion and Tyrande are fully aware of anything that might be thought of as suspicious or compromising. Frankly, whether anyone besides them believes me, I could not possibly give a rat’s ass.” He arched a brow, one corner of his mouth twitching, threatening to smile.

“Are you just a wanderer then? You’re obviously not a Night Elf.” The king folded his arms.

“No, I do what I can to offer assistance to Azeroth when threatened by things other than political posturing and pissing matches.” She told him. He did smile then.

“And what is one elf able to accomplish?”

“Much more than many would expect.”

“I see. Go on, then. Irritate me with the details of your endeavors.”

“No, I don’t think so, your highness. I’ll leave something for the next time we speak.” She gave him an obnoxious, flourishing bow and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Malfurion and Tyrande’s summit had become what Nasorya would have described as a shit-show. Gylledra had been sorely tempted to cloak herself and perch in a tree above it with snacks to watch, but she thought better of it. She was watching her step as it had not escaped her notice that Rell Nightwind, as mistrustful as ever, had made it his personal task to keep an eye on her, though she didn’t know if he was ordered to do so or if he was simply taking some initiative.  Of course, he only was able to because she allowed it.

When her shadow finally grew bored of following her on inane tasks, Gylledra went to the gardens again, where she suspected she might once more find Velen. To her surprise she found not only Velen, but young Prince Anduin as well. All the knowledge she had gleaned about the boy surged forward as she took in his appearance. Slight of build, blond hair, clear blue eyes…clearly resembling his dead mother and not the roiling ball of bitterness and rage that was his father.

“Velen, I heard you are leaving in the morning.” She greeted.

“It is true. What _haven’t_ you heard?” The ancient draenei gave a small, amused smile.

“Very little.” Gylledra looked to the young boy who stared up at her, obviously trying to discern what it was that was making him, a practitioner of the Light, feel so strangely. “Hello, Prince Anduin. Have you come to say farewell also?”

“Might I have the pleasure of your name, lady?” He asked, very officially for a thirteen-year-old and not without suspicion. It seemed there was his father in him, after all.

“I am Gylledra Alenos.” She gave him a nod out of respect, but as usual, bowed to no king or prince. “It is the Void you are sensing.”

“How did you know?” Anduin frowned a little.

“I cannot suppose you have much encountered anyone with mastery over a force you’ve learned is bad for being the opposite of the Light.”

“That would be correct, Lady Alenos.” He blinked.

“Please, I am no Lady. Gylledra is fine.” She smiled at him, knowing that Velen was studying the interaction.

“If you are a practitioner of Void magic, Lady—er, Gylledra, what does it whisper to you? And how have you resisted the madness that affects those touched by Void?” The prince asked her. Gylledra’s brows arched and she glanced at Velen who remained impassive, but pleasant.

“The Void submits to me, it obeys my will lest I be the one to whisper to it.” She told him.

“You do not seek to destroy the Light?”

“Not at all…the Light and the Void are opposites, but they are two sides of the same coin. A gold coin can purchase something no matter what is on its faces. Destruction can be purchased with that coin, or salvation and hope can be purchased with that coin.” Gylledra explained.

“But there _are_ differences.”

“There are great differences. Those who practice with the Light might choose to overcome an enemy with compassion and forgiveness, to give them the chance to make their wrongs right again. You seek to put forth more light through preserving life, and that is a noble goal.” She watched Anduin closely.

“But the Void…” He murmured.

“Yes, with the Void I am much more inclined to destroy my enemy, to take it apart and wreak upon it the same pain and suffering it wrought to the innocent I seek to defend.” She did her best not to grin as his blue eyes grew very wide. “It depends on the enemy, Anduin. I fight Sargeras and his Legion of demons, and I fought Archimonde as he sought to destroy Nordrassil; I fought against the Qiraji at Ahn’Qiraj in Silithus who were stirred by the Old God C’Thun, and I fought the Lich King. It is rare that the enemy at the end of my blade is redeemable, even in the eyes of the light.”

“You…have done much. Have you fought the Horde?”

“Against them? No. I lived in Orgrimmar for many years, I was there when it was built.”

“Were you a slave?”

“I was a citizen. I had a mate, I had friends…neither the Horde nor the Alliance are my enemy.” She gave a small shrug.

“You _had?_ ” He’d caught her wording unfortunately.

“War takes from us all.” Gylledra said simply.

“It does.” The boy agreed. “You’re a very interesting person, Gylledra. I wish we could talk more, but I am leaving with Velen in the morning.”

“Oh, your father must love that.” She scoffed.

“I don’t wish to talk about my father.”

“I understand.” She put a hand on Anduin’s shoulder, and he looked surprised that there was somehow no reaction, that her Void did not clash with his Light. “You are in good hands with Velen. We will meet again I am sure of it, and you may ask me all the questions you like.” She released him and smiled up at Velen. “Farewell to you both. If you need to get a message to me, simply ask around a bit, someone will find you.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was rather disturbing that Thrall had entrusted the leadership of the Horde to Garrosh Hellscream, of all orcs. Word that he was waging war in Ashenvale against the Night Elves had reached her only marginally sooner than it had reached the Alliance leaders in Darnassus. Nasorya had been the messenger in part because she could travel quickly and also because she was curious about the outcome of Malfurion and Tyrande’s summit.

Thralls choice made little sense when Varok would have been the obvious choice when it came to stabilizing and uniting the Horde. Had Dranosh lived, he would have made the best Warchief the Horde had ever seen, but there was little good to be done casting wishes for things that couldn’t be undone. Garrosh was rash and dangerous and he lacked the sense of self and care for _all_ the different people of the Horde that was necessary for a Warchief.

The king of Stormwind and the king of Gilneas seemed to have somehow reconciled their differences and Gylledra was minorly disappointed not to have been a fly on the wall of _those_ proceedings. All the visitors were scrambling to send messages and get their forces mustered when one of Varian’s personal guards approached Gylledra while she watched the chaos unfolding. She knew him at once, he was one of _her_ soldiers, Bren Swift, the recently reported deserter who had gone missing some weeks earlier. Nasorya opened her mouth to make comment but the wrath in Gylledra’s eyes as she peered at the man made her think better of it. The human dropped to his knee, head bowed.

“ _Deserter_.” The word was barely more than a hiss. With the report of Bren Swift’s abandonment came numerous tales from a variety of individuals in his unit about his dishonesty and manipulation of unspecified villagers in unspecified villages, amongst other much more heinous accusations that, if true, would most certainly cost him his life.

“I beg your forgiveness, General, there was no other way, I beseech you to hear me.” There was a tremor of fear in his voice and the behavior didn’t make sense for one who allegedly had committed crimes against Azeroth citizens and his fellow Nameless. She would not take the accusations made against him entirely at face value, she was a fair leader and of course required evidence of his treachery before he was condemned to die.

“No other way for _what_ , soldier?” She growled through clenched teeth.

“To get the truth to you, my lady. I was being held but fled when my captors were drunk. The accusations that were reported to you are indeed true, but they are not true of _me_.”

“Get to your feet.” Her voice was a whip crack and he obeyed, wide gray eyes meeting hers. “Explain.”

“The village of Thorne in the kingdom of Stormwind, we were moving through the area, mostly unnoticed. Captain Ouros decided to make that village an outpost of sorts, which obviously is forbidden and goes against your regular orders.” He told her quickly. She didn’t sense deception from him, but her eyes narrowed, watching every minute response he had to her scrutiny. “The captain and his lieutenants all changed to their armor and ordered the rest of us to do the same. We obeyed our commanding officer because there was no telling if there was some other order that he had received that was not for us to know.”

“There were no special orders issued to Ouros.” Gylledra interjected firmly.

“Yes, General, and many of us realized that when it was too late. The captain and lieutenants went in un-helmed, my lady, they showed their faces whilst _in_ armor to the people of the town, he told them who we are and that we were there for their protection but that such protection came at a cost and…and they…” Bren Swift shook his head, disgusted. “They staged attacks at night made to look like Horde threats, they lied and manipulated gold and lodging from these townsfolk. There were varying degrees of dissent throughout all of us but no one had said anything to them, they were our commanding officers, but when I saw a girl being…mishandled…I held my silence no longer. It earned me a fierce beating and chains, my lady, and more beatings to follow to keep others from getting any similar ideas. They said you will kill us all, willingly involved or not. They struck fear into the villagers and then more fear still into the rest of us.” Gylledra was trembling with rage, but had said nothing.

“What proof do you offer?” She whispered, her voice dangerously quiet.

“I have nothing tangible, only what I have seen and would have you peer into my mind if you must, see what I saw, General, I have nothing else to offer.” His eyes were pleading, and she could see the fading bruises and barely healed cuts on his face. He was young and had an admirable amount of skill in the talents of subtlety to go from marching with Nameless to being amongst the King’s own guards.

“How did you escape?”

“The girl’s father had seen me attempt to intervene on her behalf…it was very late several nights later, and he freed me, he begged me to get whatever help I could.” His face twisted then, sorrow etched deeper than a young face should have. “They killed him for it, and likely the girl too.” Without warning, Gylledra grabbed the soldier by the neck, peering into his eyes. At once her mind plunged forward. He grit his teeth against the pain of his thoughts being rummaged through like a trunk of clothes but she saw what he said was true and released him, both of them breathing harder.

“You did the right thing, Swift, I will be sure the record of your desertion is determined false and will be wiped. Your standing will again be good with the Nameless.”

“If you see fit to assign me punishment, I understand…” He started.

“I saw what happened. It is clear you bear no culpability. You had better resume your position in Varian’s guard lest they…”

“Oi! Swift! What are you doing?” Another guard trudged up indignantly.

“Go away.” Gylledra snapped. The guard blinked as a vacant look came across his face and he sort of stumbled off again, the last three minutes of his memory gone. “As I said, you’d better get back to your duties. This problem will be seen to, thank you for enlightening me.”

“Thank you, General, I will remain with the Stormwind Guard until further orders are given.” He put his fist over his heart in salute. Gylledra returned the salute and he hurried to rejoin the others. She turned to Nasorya who, wide-eyed, looked fit to burst.

“What…the _hell_?” She said at once. “How _could_ they? After all you’ve done for…I suppose I give them all too much credit, thinking none could be capable of this…”

“It was only a matter of time. There is no perfect army, after all. I do not relish handing out executions to my own troops but that is exactly what I intend to do.” Gylledra clenched and unclenched her teeth as her plan of action formulated.

“Will it be a private execution? To avoid fear-mongering amongst the ranks…”

“Absolutely not, it will be public and it will be witnessed by Nameless _and_ the villagers who were wronged. They’ve gone and fucked the image I wish to portray and now I have to clean up the mess and attempt to convince these people such a thing will never happen again.” Fury coursed like fire through Gylledra’s veins, and the Void rose easily to it, though she held it back for now. “We leave at once, I will send dispatches and assemble a large company to march with. Go and gather our things, if you will.”

“We’ll be ready to go momentarily.” Nasorya slapped Gylledra on the back as she trotted off.

“ _Who_ are you?” Growled a voice from behind, and Gylledra, having been distracted by the news she’d just gotten, whirled around. She found herself face to face with Varian who looked especially displeased.

“I told you who I am.” She folded her arms, not in the mood for a confrontation with a king. Silently she berated herself for not noticing his presence sooner.

“Who are you that _my_ guard salutes you and calls _you_ General?” He loomed closer. “What is this army you have? What is your purpose? Explain to me exactly why I should not throw _my_ guard in the stockades for treason.”

“I believe I explained already that I do what I can to help Azeroth.” She did not cower, she had no fear of any king, and while it was tempting to simply erase whatever he’d witnessed, she didn’t know how much that was. “Your guard has not betrayed you, Varian, you are still his king but he is my soldier because of the love he has for his people… _your_ people…and the world you live in.”

“You expect me to simply accept that there is at least one, and who knows how many others, of my closest guards and whoever else…with loyalty to someone _other_ than me?” There was the rage of betrayal in his eyes, an emotion Gylledra was currently embroiled with as well and she stepped even closer to him, unblinking, voice hushed.

“Tell me, Varian, who do you think it was that marched into Icecrown and held back the Scourge while the citadel was infiltrated and the Lich King was slain?” She hissed. His frown lessened just a little. “And from whence comes all the inexplicable aid your people are receiving as they rebuild their homes and bury their dead after the cataclysm annihilated so much?” His features smoothed more as he searched her eyes for a moment.

“That was you?” His tone was much quieter now. “The Nameless, they’re calling you…”

“Yes.” She gave a nod. “And I hope you can understand that we need the anonymity our moniker implies to remains intact.”

“Who is in this army?”

“Everyone. No one.” Gylledra shrugged and Varian backed off. “I have never asked anyone to betray their leaders, I have never given an order that benefitted one faction over the other.”

“Had I not seen these works with my own eyes I would doubt you.” The scowl twitched back onto his face. “I want to be furious that you have combined Alliance with Horde, but…” He just shook his head as he tried to come to terms with it.

“As we speak, Varian, there are orcs and trolls behind Nameless helms rebuilding villages in Stormwind; there are humans and dwarves rebuilding homes and towns in Durotar. We do what we do for the good of _all_ people who live in this world. If we did not save all your lives, who would be left to squabble?” She gave a small smile.

“Who then, are you hunting down?” He asked simply.

“A number of my own have been extorting and abusing the residents of a human village. I will seek them out, determine their guilt and they will be dealt with.” She let out a long breath and shook her head. “It is more disappointing than I have words for that it has come to this.”

“What will you do?” Varian looked more curious than furious now.

“The guilty will die and I will do what I can to make it up to the villagers. After that, all I can do is hope the example is served and that the rest of my people understand that I am not to be trifled with.” She told him, just as Nasorya returned with a leather bag, the strap slung over one shoulder. She looked skeptically from Varian to Gylledra.

“What is she? Your second in command?” He asked, some of the ice back in his voice.

“No, I’m a dragon.” Nasorya replied straight-faced. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Are those things mutually exclusive?”

“I suppose not.” She grinned.

“We have much to do, and _you_ …” Gylledra turned to Varian. “…have a battle to take part in. Good luck.” She grabbed Nasorya’s arm and in an instant they were gone from Darnassus.

 

Gylledra had called five hundred Nameless to arms to go with her to the village of Thorne in a remote part of Elwynn Forest. What she knew of the town was that it was very small and that five hundred fully armed and armored soldiers would undoubtedly be far more intimidating than was necessary, but it wasn’t the villagers who needed to fear. She’d brought her lieutenants as well as several commanders, enough soldiers that the story would be passed from soldier to soldier.

Portals were used to march her troops in around Thorne. In formation they closed in on the village, ensuring none of the guilty could escape. There were screams of terror, many people fled to their homes, faces in windows, watching what was happening. From the tavern, two drunk men in Nameless armor, without helms, stumbled out to see what the fuss was about. They blanched when they saw the center of town fully surrounded and Gylledra in the middle on horseback. She opened her mouth to speak but there was some commotion and shouting and she turned to see her soldiers pull out several bedraggled and beaten individuals without their armor that she recognized. They were likely the others who had stood up to Ouros.

They all raised their hands in surrender and came to the center of their own accord, getting to their knees. It was clear they’d been very badly treated but she trained strong soldiers, they were not broken and they all looked up at her with their heads held high.

“Find every one of them.” Gylledra ordered, her voice sounding metallic and full of power as the Void pumped through her unchecked. Numerous soldiers all moved, making their way to search for the company that had been occupying the town. There would be twenty-nine in total since Swift had been given leave to continue serving Varian.

Her soldiers entered dwellings and businesses to seek them out, undoubtedly confusing the residents as they righted anything they disturbed in their search rather than leaving it trashed. One by one they were brought out, some of them looking relieved, many looking terrified as they spotted Gylledra. The guiltiest were obvious, Ouros bore no remorse, nor did his three lieutenants. Nevertheless, everyone remained perfectly silent.

“People of Thorne!” She cried, her voice echoing unnaturally loud. “I am the Nameless General and I have come today to mete out justice for what has been done to you.”

Gylledra waited, knowing that everyone from the village no matter where they were hiding, had heard her. It got the desired result as a handful of doors opened and people emerged. Her soldiers stood aside, beckoning them to come forward. Some of the villagers still looked afraid, others angry and disgusted as they looked at those on their knees. Not many had come out, but enough had.

“What was done here is despicable and against everything we, the Nameless, stand for.” She told them. “I assure you right now, those guilty of abusing you are also guilty of betraying me and for their crimes, they _will_ die today.” The attitude of Ouros and his lieutenants shifted at that point. It was those without fear, which trusted her to see the truth that she would free and allow to take their place in her army once more or retire if they wished.

The promise of justice drew many more people out of their homes and watching them, Gylledra dismounted, then, to the shock of her own army, removed her helm, giving her hair and ears a shake. Her eyes were black with white irises, skin pale, arcane markings pulsing with dark void energy. In this form, she looked different enough that her anonymity was still safe.

“Long have I fought to protect Azeroth.” She began. “Every single one of you means something to me, _every_ life matters to me, every face, every faction…everyone. Those who serve me make a vow to uphold the ideals that I hold myself to. I will not abide those who break their sworn oaths.” Villagers continued emerging, coming farther forward as the Nameless courteously moved and offered kind words. “I want to know everything that happened and I want to know for how long. What they took, I will return to you.”

“My father’s life?” A haunted, but angry looking young woman asked. It was as if a fist squeezed Gylledra’s heart in her chest. She was the woman Swift had stood up for, whose father had been killed for freeing him.

“Bringing back the dead is one thing I cannot do.” She replied sadly. “There is no recompense for the loss of a loved one. I _can_ offer you justice, though little it may ease your grief.”

“Will they suffer?” The girl asked, her gaze hardened. Though Gylledra said and did nothing, she looked into her eyes and the girl understood, nodding, satisfied to know that there would be no peaceful end to those who committed violent offenses against the innocent.

 

All of the members of Ouros’ company were bound and put under guard as Gylledra took the time to speak with every villager that volunteered to come forward to tell her what had been happening. They had taken gold, destroyed property, killed livestock, stolen from the tavern primarily, and terrorized the residents into giving up whatever they demanded. Those who were not guilty at first had made a show of participating but didn’t harm the people themselves, giving them gold in secret for the damages to property. There had been many beatings, three women had been raped, and one man had been killed. These were the crimes that Gylledra could not undo with any amount of gold; listening to the victims pained her like an open wound.

 

Her twenty-nine prisoners’ arms were bound behind their backs as they knelt, lined up. The ones who were not afraid were amongst the fourteen she knew to be innocent. It had been a company comprised of only humans, with orders originally to covertly assess the conditions and damage in the kingdom of Stormwind after the Cataclysm. On one hand, since they were all human, no blame could be thrown at any of the other races, but also, it was despicable, their willingness to take advantage of their own people…or _any_ people, for that matter.

The whole village had come out and she had spoken with many of them one on one. Vorna, the one whose father had died, was no meek, broken woman by any means. She had helped greatly with encouraging others to speak truthfully to Gylledra. She saw her younger self in Vorna after her own family had been killed before her eyes. It was she, who stepped forward to address the citizens of Thorne before Gylledra could.

“There is no undoing what was done here.” The square was silent, even birds weren’t singing. “Some of us have had things taken from us that we can never get back, and I do not mean dead loved ones. I mean the abuse, being violated…things we will carry for us for as long as we live.” Her emotion rose, tears nearly coming to her eyes but she held it back. “The Nameless, the _true_ Nameless…offer us retribution, and we know well that such a thing is rare for the simple folk we are. What king, even ours who we love would do so much for us?”

“And so what? They go from town to town paying for silence after scum from their army comes in and wreaks havoc?” A man called. Gylledra turned toward the voice and though she couldn’t see who had spoken, she addressed the people from that area of the crowd.

“I do not ask for your silence, in fact I believe I have demanded otherwise.” She told them. “Speak out against those who wrong you. I mean to make amends by giving you back what I am able, and what I am not able to give back…well, you will see justice for it _today_. You may think death a kindness compared to what you might like done, but I assure you…what comes after will be far worse for them than anything the living can contrive.”

“And you know who is guilty and who is not? What if they are all guilty?” The man asked, this time she saw him.

“I know where the guilt lies. If all were guilty, all would die…”

“This man…” Vorna began, approaching one of those kneeling. She pulled out a knife and a gasp went out across the townsfolk. But she reached down, cutting the ropes binding his wrists. “And this man…and this man.” She cut the bindings of two more. “There was one other, but he is not here, my father released him to get us help, an act he paid for with his life. I would not see his death be in vain, for because of what he did, the guilty no longer can harm us.” The three of them looked to Gylledra who gave a very small nod, and they rose to their feet. “They dragged me, all of them appearing drunk, into a room at the tavern, laughing. They kicked the door closed before they all dropped to their knees to beg my forgiveness. They said they would stay the night in the room with me and make sure that I saw the dawn without further molestation.” She explained. “Of the rest here, fifteen are guilty.”

“Any who wish to come forward may free the innocent.” Gylledra called. After several long moments, a handful of people stepped out and one by one, cut the restraints from eleven more, leaving behind the fifteen condemned. “Are there any who contest either the releases or those who remain marked as guilty?” No one moved to make any refutes, so Gylledra nodded. She gestured toward the men and women deemed innocent, their armor appearing, helms in hand. “You are judged by these people as free from guilt. Get back into formation.” They put on their helms, saluted and disappeared into the Nameless ranks, anonymous once more.

“You’re going to believe the word of a bunch of peasants?” Ouros spat.

“Obviously you have all forgotten _what_ I am.” Gylledra hissed. The townsfolk who had come forward, wisely returned to their places. She motioned toward her captives and tall stakes emerged from the ground as each of them were strung up by some unseen force, their hands high over their heads, gags in their mouths, and ankles bound tightly.

Silence had fallen over the whole village as they waited.

“I serve Azeroth, which means all the people who live here, no matter who they are. The Nameless transcend factions and nations; we strive to help, without question, any who are in need of it. Those who serve me share these ideals and they _swear_ an oath to uphold the laws of this army, to serve the people of this world and protect it from any who would threaten it.” Gylledra’s voice was loud and clear. “That these individuals willingly broke those oaths is unforgivable. They have intentionally caused harm, terrorized this village, committed murder, rape, theft, assault…I will not stand idly by or shield them from the justice you all deserve to see done.” She turned then to the fifteen who had once been trusted members of the Nameless. “For your crimes you are condemned to die, but there will be no rest in death for you. Your souls will carry on to share the same fate as those of the demons I slay.” They struggled against their bindings, to no avail. “It brings me no joy to carry out this sentence, my trust has been broken; you are traitors to the Nameless, and all of Azeroth.”

Gylledra stepped back and raised her hand in front of her. From each individual, some ethereal substance seemed to pull from their chests. It took shape, the extracted souls she’d torn from their bodies and their gags disappeared as they stared in terrified shock into the eyes of their own essence. She stepped farther back, her eyes not leaving them as each physical body erupted in flame. It took only a second before their screams filled the ears of the spectators. Their consciousness remained both in their bodies and their spirits so they could experience their own deaths _and_ observe simultaneously. Some might have found it unnecessarily cruel, and perhaps for any other crime it might have been, but in this, it was justified.

The souls watched, screaming in mute horror as the physical forms died, the pain of their immolation tied to them forever. Gylledra opened a rift to the dark place she put the souls of demons before she took them to the Twisting Nether to be destroyed. Though they fought with futility, the rift pulled them in and closed with a wisp of smoke when they were gone. She took a deep breath, the acrid stink of burning flesh filling her lungs. It was done.

When she looked over she saw Vorna watching, unflinchingly, grim determination and satisfaction in her eyes as she stood with her arms folded. Gylledra felt no satisfaction, only pain and remorse for what the condemned had done, and that by their action she was forced to take their lives. There was no good leader though, that did not face betrayal and that was not faced with delivering the consequences of it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The village of Thorne seemed content with the violent justice Gylledra had wrought. She’d also ensured that all who had any losses that could be bought were given more than enough gold to cover the cost of replacing their things. Though, whether people had suffered losses or not, she gave them gold if they asked for it. There were no comfortably wealthy people of that small place.

“You feel responsible.” Vorna said, coming up behind Gylledra as she stared at the burnt corpses. The sun had set and the Nameless had made camp and were made to feel much more welcome than they had been originally. Some had helped with construction and projects that assistance was needed for and she intended to leave behind a detachment for a few days to ensure the people of Thorne were taken care of.

 “Of course I do. I created this organization, they wouldn’t have been here to do what they did if it weren’t for me.” She replied, glancing back at the young human.

“Were they not brought together by you, would they have ever been held accountable for these acts they’d have eventually committed anyway?”

“One might go crazy counting all the things that might or might not have happened.” Gylledra gave her a sidelong look.

“After how even many thousands of years you’ve been alive, you still hold onto guilt despite knowing that their free will to do heinous things has nothing to do with you?” Vorna folded her arms, cocking one eyebrow.

“Yes, well, there is no one alive who is without flaws.” Gylledra replied levelly. “The bulk of us will be gone before sunrise, and your village can begin to heal without further interference.”

“I think you should stay through the morning…you may gain back a few of the numbers you lost today.” Vorna shrugged but smiled and Gylledra turned, regarding her. She had seen it on the faces of all who were now Nameless, that desire to be a part of what she had created.

“You want to join us.” It wasn’t a question, and the human merely nodded.

“I do, yes.” She replied. “And…I know you can see the hate in my heart that I feel right now, the grief…the desire to undo those who would harm innocent people, but…”

“If you’re expecting me to tell you I only accept those who are pure of heart and free of emotional burdens or damage…you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t want the pure of heart with shining ideals and desires for a world full of peace and rainbows and daisies.” Gylledra took a step closer, watching Vorna’s eyes as they widened in surprised. “People who have never suffered do not make for good soldiers, Vorna. Suffering is what drives many of us, the things we have experienced, what we have seen, what we have been forced to do in our lifetimes…it hardens our hearts in a lot of ways, but our love for this world endures, the desire to save others from what we have been through is what keeps us going.”

“I had not thought of that.”

“You saw your father die, most of us have watched our loved ones taken from us in horrible ways. Almost all of my family was tortured and murdered before my eyes and the hate that erupted in my very core that day is what pumps through my veins when I call the Void forward.” Gylledra pushed the void back then, returning to her usual visage and Vorna’s eyes grew wider still. “This is who I am. My name is Gylledra.” Her eyes stayed wide and she blinked, as though not believing what she was seeing.

“I know you.”

“I don’t think that you do…”

“I didn’t think you were real.” Vorna took a step back, still staring.

“Sometimes that’s the idea, but…”

“We did not always live in Thorne, we moved south a few years ago when my mother died.” She began explaining. “I thought it was a dream…but…”

“I don’t think I understand…” Gylledra frowned, wondering if perhaps the girl was a bit touched after so much trauma.

“There were orcs.”

“What?”

“Thousands of them. We were…we were sent to get berries for a pie when we came out of the tree line and saw them all marching. I had nightmares for months…they stopped and started coming toward us…”

“Hillsbrad.” Gylledra finally made the connection.

“Yes! And it was you…you came to us and made a circle and that was all I remember. My brother was too small, he never remembered.” Vorna laughed then. “I truly owe you my life.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Gylledra smiled, shaking her head before something else occurred to her. “Vorna, you do know that the Nameless span all factions, all people…that means Horde as well.”

“Orcs even?”

“Yes, orcs too. Is that a problem?”

“I…I suppose not. I have never met an orc since then, whatever you did, they agreed to leave us alone.” The girl gave a shrug. “Besides that, I have never met any Horde.” Gylledra gestured to Pava and Reggie, who approached. Then, with Vorna, they followed Gylledra around the side of a building.

“Take off your helms.” She told them. They exchanged a look, but then did as they were bidden, and Vorna gasped, face to face with orcs for the second time in her life, though the circumstances had changed markedly. “This is Pava, my first lieutenant. All other lieutenants report to her. This is Reggie, my master of espionage.”

“I…it’s nice to meet you.” Vorna told them. “And there are other orcs out there? And trolls? They’ve all been helping us all this time?”

“Yes.” Pava replied. “When we serve our general, the political alliances and enemies forged over the years are no more and what matters most is Azeroth. All other conflict is beneath us.” She glanced at Gylledra, the question clear in her eyes, _is this human joining us?_ Gylledra gave a nod. “It is harder for some than others, but in time, friendships form between even the most unlikely of people. But something imperative for us all is trust. Even if one of the soldiers despises another, that soldier trusts that the one he loathes will have his back regardless. Our own desires no longer matter when we serve, only Azeroth matters.” Pava went on.

“I understand.” Vorna nodded.

“If you need time to think it over…” Gylledra started and her head snapped up, her brown eyes determined as she shook her head.

“I need no time. Before today I had no direction, I wish to join the Nameless. What must I do?” Vorna squared her shoulders.

“You must swear an oath that you will not break on pain of death. You saw today what happens when my soldiers betray me. And as you are not currently a trained soldier, you must decide what it is you wish your part to be in our army, whether it is a soldier or a gatherer of information, either way, you will need training.” Gylledra explained.

“Initiates, once sworn, serve and train, and when the General thinks you are ready, you will receive your armor, your rank, and your place in formation.” Pava added before she and Reggie replaced their helms.

“I understand.” Vorna said again. “I lack the subtlety to be a spy, I’m afraid, I feel I would serve you best as a soldier.”

“I accept.” Gylledra nodded. “You will swear first to me and again before your future brethren. Now, tell me your full name.”

“I am Vorna Undelga of the village of Thorne of the kingdom of Stormwind.”

“Do you swear to do any and all things in your power to protect all people of Azeroth regardless of their origin, forsaking any and all prejudices?”

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to be trustworthy to your brethren and give even your life to defend this world?”

“I swear.”

“Do you swear your loyalty, obedience, and service to me, Gylledra Alenos, General of the Nameless, above all others, all sovereigns, and all authority?” Gylledra watched closely as Vorna blinked for a very brief moment before nodding.

“I do so swear, General.”

“I accept your oath, you are now Vorna Undelga of the Nameless. You are sworn to keep secret your identity and that of all other Nameless. We do not fight for glory, we do not fight for recognition. We fight and we die so that Azeroth endures.” Gylledra reached out, laying her hands on Vorna’s head, her thumbs meeting at the middle of her forehead. “With this mark you will be known to all other Nameless, and all others will be known to you.” The mark was not a visible one, but from one Nameless to another, they knew in their hearts who bore it.

“Thank you, General.”

“Welcome to the Nameless, Vorna.” Gylledra smiled, genuinely pleased and Pava clapped her on the back.

“Welcome. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.” The orc chuckled.

“Now what?”

“You spend your last night in Thorne as an initiate. When your training is complete, you can return to your life until called to march, or seek more specific assignment.” They strolled back out to the main square and Gylledra put her helm on. “It is important to remember that even as Nameless, we are still people of Azeroth who deserve to have the lives we wish for ourselves.”

“What life do you wish for yourself?” Vorna asked. Gylledra paused, no one had asked her that in a long time.

“I’ve already had the life I wished for myself.” She replied. “Best you go and take care of what you need to, we leave at dawn.” Vorna simply nodded before heading off.

“Called it.” Nasorya said suddenly, coming out of nowhere as she was often wont to do.

“You did not.” Gylledra rolled her eyes.

“You’re right, I definitely haven’t witnessed the recruiting of thousands of people over the last decade, silly me.” She folded her arms. “She made up her mind the instant the fire started.”

“She’ll make a good soldier I think, once she’s trained up. Usually the ones that have nothing else to live for are rather dedicated.” Pava observed.

“Who will have _that_ assignment?” Nasorya asked and quickly put a finger on the nose of her own mask. “Not it.”

“ _I_ will do it, I think.”

“Ooh, a little protégé…you going to shape her young, fragile mind into as twisted a killing machine as you are?” Nasorya laughed at her own joke.

“For their sakes, I hope no Nameless becomes _that_.” Gylledra scoffed. “We met her before, you know.”

“What?” Pava and Nasorya asked in unison.

“In Hillsbrad, it was her and her little brother I stopped the orcs from killing.”

“Wow.” Nasorya murmured.

“So…it comes full circle.” Pave gave a nod. “Her loyalty will be especially strong.”

 

Beneath the cool exterior and the jokes with Nasorya, the day’s events tore at Gylledra like a clawed beast. She tossed and turned on her bedroll in the tent as Nasorya snored obnoxiously, mouth agape, across from her. It felt like hours before finally her eyes grew heavy and she at last found the reprieve that only sleep could bring.

 

_A room slowly came into focus, it was the room at Warsong Hold, though it seemed fuzzy, shrouded in the haze of memory. A fire burned low in the fireplace. On the bed, asleep, was Varok, one arm behind his head, the blankets covering him to the waist, the rest of him bare. She’d seen him that way countless times, and dreamed of him often. Before falling asleep she had been longing for him, to be comforted after carrying out executions of her own people. Her mind gave her what little reprieve, what little comfort it could._

_Moonlight shone in through the window and she silently went to him, kneeling on the bed in the empty place beside him, a spot she once occupied. Even asleep he looked troubled and she lay a hand gently on his shoulder, his skin hot to the touch, as always._

_“Varok.” She whispered, her own voice strange, faraway. His eyes flew open and he jerked into a sitting position staring at her, blinking several times and she gave a small smile._

_“Gylledra…” He grunted._

_“This is a welcome change from my usual barrage of nightmares.” She replied. Varok pulled her against him and kissed her and she happily reciprocated, her arms around his neck, tasting him, and he was the same as he ever was._

_“You look sad.” He whispered._

_“I am sad every day.” She told him. “Today, I was forced to execute some of my soldiers who had betrayed me.” He gathered her close in his arms as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. “I have done many difficult things, but to face such betrayal and look into their eyes as they died by my hand…”_

_“How did you execute them?” He asked and she almost laughed that that was the question._

_“Fire.” She replied. “So I suppose I wasn’t really watching their eyes specifically as they died…”_

_“I am sorry they betrayed you. You’ve endured more than your share of betrayal…including mine.” Varok took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She closed her eyes, pushing back the ache in her heart._

_“I don’t want to talk about that.” She buried her face against his chest. “I just want to feel you…and pretend like nothing ever changed.” Even in sleep, within a dream, he still had the power to open her up so she bared the most vulnerable parts of herself. It was only with him that she ever truly felt completely herself, that there was nothing of who she was that she needed to hide._

_“You did what you had to do.” He told her quietly and Gylledra sighed, knowing it was true._

_As she breathed deeply, his musky scent filled her, warming her from the inside out. Memories were potent things and she shifted, straddling his lap. Varok met her eyes, stroking her hair, but his brow was furrowed._

_“Aren’t you cold?” He murmured, a question he’d asked her often._

_“Not at all…” Gylledra kissed him as he took her by the hips, pulling her against him with a soft groan. She moved, everything blurring around her briefly as she pulled back, there was more movement, indistinct as she felt fabric in her hand, her night shirt, then nothing as it was gone. His fingers moved over her bare skin, up the curve of her backside, her waist, her shoulders, feeling her breasts, and every other inch of her. “My body has never known the hunger that has plagued me all this time apart.” She whispered before taking his earlobe between her teeth. Varok let out a shuddering breath, her mouth trailing down his neck until he couldn’t stand it any longer and shoved the blanket down. He took her by the waist and pulled her down to sheath him completely. She gave a small, startled cry but put her head back as the ripples of sensation tremored through her. The vision of him rippled like the reflection in a pool._

_“I would have been satisfied with a kiss.” Varok breathed, the words echoed around and through her._

_“But is this not more satisfying?”_

_“ Much.” In one fluid motion, he had her pressed into the mattress before drawing back his hips and filling her again. He grunted, finding a steady rhythm, each stroke drawing Gylledra closer and closer toward that little death he was so skilled at achieving. It wasn’t slow, languid love-making, it was urgent and full of need. She held onto him and cried out, months of longing finally releasing in a spasm that gripped her body harder than any she could remember. Varok panted, her limbs were shaking, but she watched his amber eyes until his brow furrowed and he moved hard, trying to stay quieter than she had._

_Darkness closed around her before it melted away again, they lay together and Gylledra closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to his bare skin._

_“I don’t know how to not love you, so whatever happens, I think I just always will.” She whispered. “However painful…even if you never want to see me again.”_

_“I do love you…” His voice rumbled in his chest._

_“I want to believe that.” She sighed, nestling closer. “But it isn’t real.” Varok kissed the top of Gylledra’s head and she looked up then kissed his lips again. His hips moved, he was still inside her…still hard, and she moaned softly._

 

 

Gylledra woke with a start in the darkness, the first pre-dawn birds only chirping quietly still. She wiped at her cheeks, they were wet, and let out a long sigh. The dream hung vividly in her mind, and with it, the disappointment of waking up alone again. She gave herself a few moments to let the sadness wash over her as she usually did when dreaming of _him_ , but then she neatly packed it back up, pushing it down where it could not plague her until she slept again.

 

Shortly after dawn, the Nameless had broken down their camp and were bid goodbye by the people of Thorne. Gylledra had destroyed the burnt corpses and removed the poles they’d been tied to, all that remained were the scorched marks on the ground. Her soldiers returned from whence they came, Nasorya departed to spend time with the dragons, and Pava and Reggie returned to Orgrimmar.

“Have you ever been to Darnassus?” Gylledra asked Vorna.

“Stormwind is the only city I’ve seen. I’ve seen night elves and gnomes and dwarves there, but I’m a poor farmer’s daughter, I have no means to travel nor any reason to.” Her new companion explained.

“Well, you’ll be in for a shock, then. I travel more than just about anything else.” She replied, opening a portal. Vorna stared at it and the shimmering, wavy image of Darnassus within it. “Just step through, it will be fine.” The young human put her shoulders back and strode through, Gylledra following close behind.

On the other side, they’d come out in the woods behind Gylledra’s quarters and Vorna was on her hands and knees shaking somewhat, her face pale and sweaty.

“What…the hell…” She gasped.

“You’ll grow accustomed to it. The shorter the distance, the less the effect, but we’ve just gone from Elwynn Forest to the northern most point of Kalimdor, so I imagine it’s a bit of a shock to the system. Get up, you’ll shake it off.” Gylledra told her. “There are two people you must meet, since generally it is polite to ask permission to have a guest when you _are_ a guest.”

“You’re a guest here?” Vorna’s color was returning and she was at least upright again.

“Yes, I am Nightborne, not a night elf.”

“How?”

“You have a healthy thirst for knowing things; that will work in your favor.” Gylledra chuckled. “The night elves follow druidism and Elune, the Nightborne have mastered the arcane.”

“I see.” The girl murmured. “My one question has left me with many others.”

As they made their way through the city, Vorna took in everything there was to see, her eyes wide as though she could not get enough. They climbed the stairs to the temple of Elune where Tyrande, ever watchful of everything that happened in her city, stepped out.

“Surely a portal doesn’t count as use of the arcane. Conventional means of travel would have taken us…weeks.” Gylledra told the tall, imposing night elf leader.

“Seeing as you have refrained from its use or even its mention to the children, I can forgive it. Who is your friend?” Tyrande replied as they reached her.

“This is Vorna, she comes from Stormwind. She’s never left Elwynn and so, I have brought her with me so she might become more worldly.” Gylledra explained, a little mischief in her smirk. “Vorna, this is Tyrande Whisperwind, along with Malfurion Stormrage, they lead the night elves.”

“A friend of Gylledra’s is welcome here. What other stops do you plan on your journey?”

“Theramore of course, probably Thunder Bluff…” Gylledra started. Tyrande bristled ever so slightly.

“You will take her to see the Horde as well? Why not take her into _Orgrimmar_ too?”

Gylledra sighed. “My presence in Orgrimmar is accepted because it was my home, a human would likely not be so welcome, particularly with Garrosh Hellscream as acting Warchief.” She made an unpleasant face.

“We can agree on that, at least. We bear no love for the orcs, but Thrall was interested in finding ways to coexist. The monster they have now…it will end very badly with him, I can feel it.” Tyrande told them.

“You lived in Orgrimmar?” Vorna looked up at Gylledra who exchanged a slightly awkward glance with Tyrande.

“Yes, for many years.” She cleared her throat. “Tyrande, would it be acceptable for Vorna to have quarters near mine during our visit? She wishes to learn to fight, so we will be spending a good deal of time doing that in the woods.”

“Yes, I will see to it. Be sure to see the children, they ask after you _constantly_.”

 

“The children?” Vorna inquired as they made their way back in the direction of their rooms.

“Both the night elven children and the Gilnean children who reside here, they seem to have a fondness for me that initially was completely baffling. I do my best to instill tolerance in their hearts. Different is not bad.” Gylledra told her.

“You’re…quite odd, you know that right?”

“Watching countless worlds destroyed before your eyes can have that effect.”

 

Vorna had spent her life working on a farm, she was strong, all Gylledra had to do was teach her to use that strength in a new way. They dressed simply and headed out into the forest armed only with staves.

“When did you start training?” Vorna asked, breaking what had been quite a long silence.

“As a child, when I was big enough to hold a weapon. I was selected to be a part of the Moon Guard before even my tenth birthday.” Gylledra told her.

“They recruited children? What about your youth? Your childhood…”

“It was not typical for it to happen that way, most were selected well into adulthood and already proven practitioners of the arcane arts. But…they decided there was something different about me. My parents had many children, so I suppose it was not such a great matter to have one taken away.” There was, of course a hint of bitterness in her voice. Her mother had wanted their family associated with greatness and so did not protest. Her father and grandfather had not agreed, but ended up overruled. Needless to say, her relationship with her mother had not been very good and it had worsened farther when her mother had so willingly hidden in cowardice in Suramar.

“I see.” Vorna murmured. “My mother died a few years ago, my brother caught sick and passed three years ago, so my father and our little farm in Thorne was all I had.”

“And so you’ve elected to join an organization that will show you the entire world and all the horrors in it.” Gylledra moved far more quickly than Vorna was expecting and it had barely registered that her legs had been swept out from under her with a staff until after she was flat on her back, gasping for breath. “And you’ve got a long way to go. You’ve sworn your service to the Nameless; it is not easy, it will not be fun, and you will rarely feel rewarded or satisfied by what you do.” Vorna caught her breath, scrambling to get up but Gylledra knocked her down again, intending to incite the rage she knew the girl had and was pushing down. “You will look into the face of genuine evil and know it may be the very last face you ever see.” Gylledra swept Vorna’s hands out as she got to her knees so that she fell, prone, baring her teeth as finally she rolled sideways, grabbed her fallen staff and got to her feet. “You will feel one moment that you have victory, only to have it taken from you again.” Gylledra struck her knuckles and Vorna nearly dropped her staff and grew angrier as her shins took the brunt of the next assault.

It was the _thwap_ Vorna took to the face that finally made her attack. She let out a snarl, lunging, and Gylledra neatly stepped aside then deftly ducked the swing of the staff made at her head. Upright again, she slapped the girl in the face, easily avoiding another strike with the staff before slapping her with the other hand. Vorna snarled again, hurdling toward Gylledra, getting low to tackle her. Gylledra casually set aside her staff and using Vorna’s momentum, easily lifted her and threw her down, now in possession of the staff, which, crouching down, she held to the girl’s throat.

“You are angry…you _should_ be angry.” Gylledra growled at her. “You were beaten and raped. Your father was murdered. These are not things you should push down while you try to forget and focus on other things. These things happened to you, Vorna, and they were _horrible_.” She was fighting the feelings, Gylledra could see it in her eyes, she didn’t want to grieve and she didn’t want to face what was done to her. Facing such atrocities was painful and meant being vulnerable. Vorna’s face screwed up, turning red as tears filled her eyes.

“ _Get off of me!_ ” She shrieked and Gylledra did at once. She stared up in surprise, as though expecting to be held down longer but instead found a hand extended to her, which she took and was pulled to her feet.

“It is dangerous to set those terrible things aside. You had the strength to look into the eyes of the one who did those things and that was one of the last things they saw, someone they sought to ruin who is anything but ruined.”

“What am I supposed to do then? I am left with nothing but my anger and the memories.” Vorna wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. “These feelings…”

“Feel them, but do not _become_ them.” Gylledra’s voice was more gentle again. “Now, let me show you the proper way to hold a staff…”

“I _want_ to hold a sword.” Vorna grumbled, still reeling from what had just happened.

“Yes, well…you have to learn to duck before you can stab.”

 

Vorna learned quickly and seemed eager to please. Gylledra didn’t intend to train her from start to finish, but she would at least take the girl to see some of the world she was promising to die for. They spent only a few days in Darnassus and Malfurion had come to Rut’theran Village to see them off.

“Where does this next leg of your _tour_ take you, Gylledra?” He asked, smiling.

“Though I’m sure you don’t want to hear it, I think next we will make our way to Thunder Bluff. Cairne and Baine have always been very open-minded.” She told him, but his brow drew into a frown.

“You don’t know…” He started.

“Don’t know _what?_ ” She stared at him, a sense of dread suddenly coming over her.

“Cairne Bloodhoof challenged Garrosh Hellscream to mak’gora and was killed.” There was no joy on Malfurion’s face at delivering this news. A Horde leader was dead, but Cairne was good, he cared about peace and diplomacy and doing what was right. Gylledra stared at him for a long moment, her mouth open as she was both in shock and bewildered that somehow this news had not reached her.

“When?” She asked a little hoarsely.

“Shortly after the shattering, right after Thrall departed for Nagrand.” Malfurion explained. She gaped in further shock.

“That was _weeks_ ago…more than two _months_ even…” She spluttered.

“You keep such a close eye on Horde affairs?” The towering night elf arched a brow at her.

“I keep a close eye on _all_ affairs if it means saving lives.” She snapped.

“His son, Baine, has taken his place as High Chieftain of the tauren.”

“I know Baine well.” She sighed. “Were it not for them I would have died eight years ago.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”

“Cairne’s death is a loss to all of Azeroth…and that damn orc is going to destroy the Horde if he is not stopped.” Gylledra felt the anger bubbling up as it seemed to do more easily these days.

“I’m not exactly in a position to be terribly upset by the Horde’s destruction.” Malfurion replied and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Perhaps not, Malfurion, but you know as well as I do that a loose cannon like Garrosh Hellscream will not stop at ruining his own Horde, he will do whatever he can to obliterate the Alliance too.” The tone of her voice was serious, and he knew she was right. “Now, I must pay respects to my fallen friend and see the grief on the face of his son.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gylledra was reeling from the news that Garrosh Hellscream had slain Cairne Bloodhoof. The volatile orc had no business being in the position of Warchief, whether it was interim or otherwise. She gave herself a headache wondering what in the world Thrall had been thinking. It was undeniable that Garrosh was a strong warrior and that he felt a fierce need to prove himself a worthy orc…but that over-compensating need implied insecurity, and she had seen the hate in his heart. She’d also gotten word from many of her Horde contacts that he was rebuilding the city to reflect a darker, more violent time in Horde history.

Before reaching tauren territory, traveling slowly on horseback, Gylledra had sent a message ahead for Baine, asking his permission to come honor Cairne and included that she had a human girl with her who wished to see the world and know the people in it. Baine had replied with only one sentence. _You need never ask my permission; a friend of yours is a friend of mine, for I know what lies in your heart._

Vorna was curious, interested in things she had never seen or even heard of in a lot of cases, but also cautious, uncertain that if any Horde spotted her, they would not try to slay her at once. Considering the past events and conflicts between the Horde and Alliance, it was not surprising that a human believed all Horde would skin her and make living room decorations.

There had been a time where Gylledra would have told her with some certainty that no one would attack her without cause, at least not in Mulgore…but that was a _long_ time ago, and with Garrosh Hellscream as Warchief…she didn’t know if all members of the Horde even were safe, let alone a human.

There was a startled gasp and Gylledra whirled around to look over at Vorna who was pale and stiff atop her horse, staring at the female orc riding a dire wolf on the other side of her. It was Sirno, one of Gylledra’s personal guards. She’d appeared without a sound, naturally, being a very talented spy.

“Don’t worry, Vorna. Sirno is Nameless.” Gylledra told her, feeling a little amused.

“Oh…sorry.” The human cleared her throat. “Nice to meet you, Sirno. I’m Vorna.”

“I know.” Sirno replied without looking at her, instead she glanced across at Gylledra, a small smirk on her lips.

“Sirno has been with us since we left Thorne.” Gylledra explained.

“What?” Vorna’s eyes grew round. “I didn’t see…”

“No, you didn’t.” Sirno replied casually then came around to Gylledra’s other side. “There’s nothing to run into between here and Thunder Bluff.”

“Good, I’m not particularly in the mood for a fight.” Gylledra replied. Vorna made a sound of relief.

“Were you still afraid?” Gylledra asked. She’d been very quiet since the night before, growing more so as they travelled on.

“No…”

“You’ve had very little to say.”

“You lost a friend, I don’t wish to chew your ear off with idle prattle when there are much more important things on your mind.” Vorna told her.

“He is not the first friend I have lost, nor will he be the last. I didn’t know Cairne as well as I know his son, Baine.” Gylledra stared a bit into the distance. “When I met them, I had just come to Kalimdor with the Horde. I was very near to dying, it was Cairne and Baine’s intervention that allowed…someone to take me and…” She halted. “…he took us to a powerful place that allowed me to heal and grow strong again.”

“Someone being be your mate?” Vorna asked.

“He wasn’t my mate at the time.” Gylledra gave her a sidelong look as Sirno’s eye-roll was almost audible. She was often a personal guard against undesired conversations as well.

“So the one who would be your mate took you to the healing place? I assume it helped move things along between you?” Vorna grinned.

“It did.”

“Your mate was Horde?”

“Yes.”

“…a tauren?”

“No.”

“So then, he was an…”

“An _orc_.” Sirno interjected.

“I am sorry you lost him…” Vorna murmured, looking ahead again. It would still take her some time to grow accustomed to not fearing orcs.

“He is not dead.” _Now_ Gylledra’s tone indicated that no more questions were to be asked. She didn’t routinely share details of her private life with recruits, or really anyone she wasn’t close to. “Let’s pick up the pace, I would like to see Baine while it is still daylight.”

 

They rode Thunder Bluff’s great elevator up, the wood creaking beneath them. Vorna continued to look concerned. They made their way up the wooden walkway once at the top. A guard approached them and Vorna nearly jerked backward as the enormous tauren cast a shadow over them.

“Welcome, Gylledra Alenos, the High Chieftain is expecting you and your…guests.” He greeted, not unkindly. “If you would follow me, please.”

“Yes, of course.” Gylledra smiled.

“How’s it going, Kenno?” Sirno asked, a sly grin on her face and the tauren squirmed ever so slightly.

“Well enough. This way, please.” He replied. Gylledra looked at Sirno with a brow arched in question and the look of wicked amusement on the orc’s face told her everything she needed to know.

It had been a long time since Gylledra had last visited Thunder Bluff, but it had always felt quiet and peaceful there. This time, though, there was an air of mourning, the citizens seemed somewhat subdued, as was expected. Cairne had been a great and beloved Chieftain. To her, his death was a waste, he had still been very strong and capable; Garrosh should not have been able to take him down with a glance of his axe. Something seemed amiss about the whole situation and it was troubling that such grave news hadn’t reached her immediately.

The guard took them to the High Rise where Baine had taken up the place his father formerly occupied. Vorna was silent as they approached the large lodge, many tauren had noticed her and watched their progression through the city. Some knew who Gylledra was, others simply saw an elf and a human being led to the chieftain by a guard and an orc.

“Gylledra…wait…” Sirno’s warning came too late though and Gylledra entered the lodge. To the right, sat Baine and, as Gylledra expected, Nasorya was seated beside him looking _quite_ surprised. Baine gave a modest smile, getting to his feet and Nasorya shot an accusatory look up at the tauren as she rose beside him.

“ _You didn’t tell me you meant today!_ ” She hissed at Baine.

“Welcome…” He started, ignoring her, but Gylledra saw Nasorya staring at the far side of the lodge behind her, eyes still wide. Somehow, Gylledra knew what she was looking at, but it was no less of a shock when she turned around to peer up into a pair of equally shocked amber eyes.

“Varok.” She managed to whisper. The guard, Kenno, had left without a word, wanting _no_ part of whatever was going on. Varok looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him and though he stood as immobile as Gylledra, his eyes flicked to Baine and back to her again. She, too, knew it was the tauren’s doing that they were meeting like this.

“Oh, shit…” Vorna suddenly blurted as it dawned on her what exactly was happening. Sirno reached out and grabbed the human, yanking her outside and Gylledra blinked, taking a deep breath. She turned to Baine who wore a look of apprehension but somehow also hopefulness. She opened her mouth to demand just what in the hell he thought he was doing but he put a hand up.

“I know it is not my place to interfere.” He started. “Saurfang, I hope you will forgive my father for breaking your confidence, but he spoke to me of your conversation at Warsong Hold, and he told me what had happened. It was rare for him to ever divulge private things he knew were not meant for more ears than his, which indicated he thought it was important I know.” Gylledra had no idea what he was talking about and glanced back at Varok who plainly _did_ as his jaw clenched and unclenched. “I understand if you are angry with me for deceiving you both, but when I received your letter, Gylledra, that you were coming, and Saurfang was due to arrive a day before you…I felt my father would have done the same. He cared for and respected you both, as do I.” There was a pause and he glanced down for a moment, as though gathering his words. “You have both come here in grief for my father’s death and I can see merely by looking at you both there is much more sadness weighing on your hearts than that. I hope that perhaps some light might come from the darkness that brought you here.” With nothing further, Baine stepped past Gylledra and left the lodge.

Nasorya stepped up to Gylledra, leaning close to her ear. “Keep your clothes _on_.” She hissed before leaving her and Varok alone together for the first time in a year. Gylledra stared for a long moment at the door flap.

“Is Baine trying to _guilt_ us?” She asked, still in a state of shock.

“So it would seem.” Varok replied, clearing his throat. “Gylledra, if you do not wish to speak with me…”

“Baine’s done what neither of _us_ has had the courage to do.” She said, shrugging.

“And what is that?”

“Get us into the same room together.” She _wanted_ to be furious with him, she wanted to yell at him and tell him how terrible and dark her heart had been for the last year. But she wasn’t furious with him, not anymore. She still felt hurt and sad about what happened, but there was no rage left in her for Varok. Grief had taken its toll on him but still she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

“Do you want me to go?” He motioned to the door and for a long second, she just stared at him. In the presence of others, he remained well inside a mask of collected, calm, ferocity. With her though, even now, she saw his pain, his sorrow at the loss of Dranosh, the longing he still had for her, and in his eyes, she saw something she didn’t quite expect, damaged as it was…hope.

“No, I don’t.” She didn’t want him to go ever again, she wanted to never be without him, to never be apart or in pain from his absence in her life again. He seemed relieved and turned to a small table where there was a decanter and several wooden cups of varying size. Varok popped the cork and poured some of the contents into two cups, holding the smaller one out to her. Gylledra took it and inhaled the scent, a _very_ strong alcoholic beverage of some sort, stirring her memories. “I though I swore off drinking with orcs.” She took a sip and coughed. “Gah!…what do they make this out of?”

“I’ve been afraid to ask.” He threw back the entire contents of his cup and set it down, pouring another, which he then sipped instead. “We don’t have to talk…”

“No, but we should, considering the last time we spoke, the day had begun perfectly, then everything that was ever good in our lives was torn to pieces. Next thing I knew, I was semi-conscious on the steps at the Temple of the Moon in Darnassus with Tyrande cursing your name.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then following Varok’s lead, downed the remaining contents of her cup and refilled it. She sat on one of the cushions, gesturing to another, inviting Varok to do the same.

“I have regretted my actions that day every moment since then.” He sat down, facing her.

“I’m sure you can imagine I was not delighted.” A tiny bit of ice slipped into her voice. While she couldn’t deny that she wanted nothing more than to be with him again, she also could not deny that the wound was still there, and it still bled. It would not simply close up at a moment’s notice or a simple apology, they both needed healing.

“There are no words to tell you how sorry I am…” He started. “There is no excuse…”

“You had just gotten the _worst_ possible news _anyone_ could get, Varok.” She sighed. “I did not expect you to react as you did, but I certainly didn’t expect you to take it well.”

“I told you to leave when I needed you…when _you_ needed me.” He looked down, his face drawn and unhappy. “Though I longed to turn to you in that darkness, it overwhelmed me and I thought only of myself, of how it would feel to lose you next. You were gone by the time my good sense returned…and…I saw you in Nagrand; I heard what you said…” He looked at her when she made no reply, his amber eyes searching. “I was a coward not to go to you then either.”

“I have my own regrets. I should have stayed and waited for you to come to your senses as I knew you would; I was reeling, torn in pieces between Dranosh and my heart breaking for you because I knew how it would affect you, and then the wound when you told me to go…” She sighed and shook her head, taking a long draught from her cup. “I should have gone to you in Nagrand either or even back to the Hold itself…but regrets give us nothing.”

“If I could undo…”

“We cannot un-ring a bell, Varok.” She interrupted. “There are things I would change too if it were possible, but it isn’t. Our lot in life is to serve this world and that means being embroiled in tragedy…our own, _and_ that of others.” Her heart still ached, she hadn’t anticipated having the chance to tell him how she felt. “Being with you made that burden bearable, and I had forgotten how heavy it is.”

“I feel the weight of it more greatly than ever.” He sighed. “I took a thing precious to me and was careless…and it broke.” Gylledra peered into her cup for a moment before looking at Varok again. He looked wretched, everything that had happened in the last year had taken a great toll on them both. He seemed to be under the impression that she was turning him away, though.

“In Suramar, one of the people I was fond of was this mad old elf called Dolen. He was a potter and created some of the most exquisite things I have ever seen in my life to this very day.” She started. Varok met her eyes, wondering where this was going. “Everything in his shop was always pristine. It was perfect, every piece on every shelf was flawless. I said to him once that he must truly love what he does, creating all that beauty. He scoffed at me and sort of grimaced, looking at all the wares as they shone.” She smiled a little, remembering the time she had spent in that shop as a girl and after the shield had come down. “He said the items on display were hollow, that they were things still waiting to happen. Then he led me to the back, through his workshop and into another room with shelves and various items on them. Every single thing in that room had been broken at one time or another. Some items had been shattered entirely, others broken into a couple pieces and some just with cracks, and he had repaired them. Dolen fused the pieces back together using silver and gold, some even looked to be repaired with a glowing arcane mortar I had never seen before.” Varok listened intently. “Each broken thing he’d put back together was more beautiful than it had been before. He said that perfect pieces could be beautiful, but these ones that had been broken and were flawed were where true beauty was, they had _survived_. He said the more broken they were, the longer it took to repair, but the longer it took, the stronger they became.” Varok’s mouth was open as though he were going to speak but remained silent, understanding what she was telling him. “What we had, Varok, _is_ broken into many pieces, and for a lot of reasons it can never be exactly the same.”

“But it could be better than it was.” He offered, sitting forward. “Stronger, even.”

“It could be, yes.” Gylledra replied and though she hesitated, unsure if she should reassure him, she reached her hand out. Varok took it at once, and even so simple a touch after so long was like lightning coursing through her. “Only if we take the time to put it all back together.”

“I don’t care how long it takes, Gylledra, I would spend ten lifetimes if that was what it took. I will do anything I can to rebuild what is between us.” There was hope and love in his eyes and it took every shred of Gylledra’s self-control not to crawl into his lap and lay her head against his chest and just let him hold her. He held her hand to his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment and everything inside her that had threatened to spill over finally did. Varok pressed a kiss against her palm, his eyes opening as small sob escaped. She didn’t stop him or resist when he gathered her in his arms, he always knew what she wanted…what she _needed_. He wiped at her cheeks with one finger, shaking his head sadly.

“It pains me that I have made you so sad.” He said quietly. “I must not make you cry anymore.” Varok put his forehead against hers and she draped her arms around his neck, her eyes closed. They didn’t move for a long time, the silence hanging peacefully around them.

For having lived through millennia after millennia, no year had felt as long as the one Gylledra had just endured. She would have carried on without him, gone about her life, buried herself in the work of the Nameless, but she would have survived, however hollow it would have left her to be without him. She didn’t _need_ him to survive, but she wanted him in her life, to share it with him, to share everything again…and to see color in the sunrise once more.

Varok took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he pulled back a bit. Gylledra turned her face up to his, her eyes lingering on his mouth.

“I would kiss you if I thought I could stop again.” He whispered. “But I do not trust myself, and I do not feel as though I have earned back that privilege.”

“ _I_ will decide when…”

“Yes, yes I know.” He smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.” She sat up, taking his face between her hands.

“Just one.” Gylledra murmured, drawing closer as his arms tightened around her.

“ _IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT IN HERE?!_ ” Just as Varok’s lips brushed Gylledra’s, Nasorya plowed through the leather hangings on the door, startling them and earning two, identical, irritated glares. “Oh. Oops…sorry.” There wasn’t any part of Nasorya that was even remotely sorry in that moment and all three of them knew it. “I’m glad to see you’re dressed.” Varok’s hold loosened and Gylledra cleared her throat as she peeled herself away from him, getting to her feet only to find an amused smirk on his lips. He knew her very well indeed, and likely neither of them could be counted on as pillars of willpower where the other was concerned.

“I’d better go properly greet Baine, since he has so graciously allowed me to visit…”

“ _With_ your pet human, even.” Nasorya finished for her. Varok stood, and raised an eyebrow in question.

“She is a new initiate, not a _pet_. Nasorya is a petulant child who finds it difficult to handle if I travel with anyone who isn’t her.” Gylledra retorted while Nasorya rolled her eyes.

“Well, I imagine I will see you again at dinner shortly.” Varok told her, cutting off the argument before Nasorya could spit back some acidic remark. Gylledra nodded.

“Yes, of course.” She took his hand but Nasorya cleared her throat obnoxiously.

“Better get going, hm?” She batted her eyes and Gylledra bared her teeth a little.

“I’m imagining right now what it would be like to knock your teeth down your throat.”

“Ah, the plight of being the embodiment of your sense of reason and restraint.” Nasorya stepped behind Gylledra, taking her by the shoulders and gently shoving her toward the door. Gylledra couldn’t help the glance back at Varok, though, and the smile on his face already made him look younger again.

 

 

Baine was seated at a fire out of earshot from the lodge and Nasorya left Gylledra with him, breezing by to…wherever. The new tauren Chieftain got to his feet again, the question plain on his face and she smiled.

“Your meddling wasn’t for naught.” She told him before he could ask.

“I assumed when the lodge didn’t catch fire that it couldn’t have gone too terribly.” He offered, looking pleased, but there was still sadness in his eyes.

“I appreciate what you did.” Gylledra put a hand on his arm. “But, my troubles are not why I’m here. I would have been here sooner, Baine…”

“I know, as of late the typical flow of information has been…disrupted.” He sighed.

“What happened? None of it makes sense and I heard little other than the mak’gora…”

“There was treachery afoot, though Hellscream claims to have had no knowledge of it. Magatha Grimtotem poisoned the blade of his axe so that a blow that should not have killed my father weakened him so much the next blow _did_.” Baine’s eyes hardened as he looked at the fire for a moment.

“I am sorry.” She told him quietly.

“Thank you.”

“I wish this would be the last tragedy wrought by that monster but anyone with half a brain knows better.” Gylledra shook her head. “ _Anyone_ would have been better…”

“Thrall said himself that the younger Saurfang would have been perfect.”

“Yes, he would have brought the Horde into an age of prosperity and likely found a way to coexist with the Alliance without so much bloodshed…but well…”

“I know. It does not do to dwell on what might have been. Come, we will feast, you’ve had a long journey and we can honor my father and tell stories from long ago.” Baine smiled.

 

* * *

 

Gylledra tossed and turned, her mind far too busy to sleep and once Nasorya, the ever-dedicated chaperone was out cold, she slipped away like an errant adolescent. At least Sirno wouldn’t try to stop her. It wasn’t even remotely surprising to see Varok sitting by the fire by himself, nor did he look particularly surprised to see her either.

“I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep, apparently.” She sat down beside him and he draped an arm around her shoulders with the ease and comfort as though they had never been apart. His touch felt good, as though she had been dying of thirst and finally had water again.

“I suspected that would be the case.”

“Well, it _was_ a rather eventful day.”

“I was also hoping you’d come out here to the fire.” There was almost a hint of shyness in his smile. “Already, the darkness seems…a little less dark.”

“It does.” Gylledra agreed.

“I am directly disobeying orders by even being here.” He gave a small laugh. “I was never given leave to come here, nor would I have gotten it had I asked.”

“I imagine not.” She murmured. “I suppose you will not be staying long then.”

“No, I will depart again for Warsong Hold tomorrow.”

“I will be moving on tomorrow as well; I’m taking Vorna to Theramore then back to Stormwind.” She explained. “She will start her formal training and I will see what the Alliance is up to.” Varok made a noise of acknowledgement, he had no love for the Alliance, of course.

“I am sorry for what happened with your people.” He changed the subject and she frowned.

“I hope Nasorya’s willingness to discuss such serious things does not extend to the presence of those who should not be hearing them.” Gylledra replied evenly.

“Ah, no, of course not.” He quickly assured her.

“It was terrible and tragic, but not as tragic as what they did to those people…the things that got them executed.” She sighed.

“I assume your human companion is from that town?”

“Yes, she was a victim, her father was killed, she was…violated” She shook her head. “I think they died horrifyingly enough to deter any others who might find it permissible to abuse the innocent.”

“Well, whatever her plight, the human looks to have the fortitude she will need to serve you. I can’t imagine you’d have accepted her otherwise.”

“Of course not.” Gylledra yawned then, a wave of exhaustion washing over her unexpectedly. “I wasn’t tired a minute ago…”

“I know how dull conversing with me is.” Varok teased.

“You’re right, I’ve never been so bored in my life.” She replied, her eyes feeling heavy.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang had subjected himself during the last year to all degrees of mental torture, anguish, and chaos. For everything that had gone wrong, he had this _one_ thing back, one thing that mattered more than anything else in those moments. He was sitting on the ground, lounging back against a large log that had served as a bench. Asleep, with her head on his chest, was the only remaining light he had left. He didn’t deserve this second chance she was giving him, but he was not going to question or argue it.

He wanted to rest, but could not bring himself to stop watching Gylledra. Though they had much work to do to rebuild the trust he had wrecked, she had forgiven him. Somehow she had also decided not to verbally eviscerate him; he would never cease to be amazed by her capacity for love, then again, he would forgive her for most anything probably, perhaps she felt the same.

Nasorya was sauntering toward the fire, a blanket draped over one arm as she scowled, obviously displeased at having been given the slip. She’d had very little to say to him since his arrival, which wasn’t unexpected. She put her finger to her lips and then, to his surprise as he watched her a little warily, she opened the blanket and draped it over him and Gylledra.

“She has not slept more than a couple hours a night since she left Northrend.” She told him, her voice hushed. “She almost lost her life for you once all those years ago. The second time, she nearly lost her life _because_ of you. If you do it again, she will die…and then so will you.” It was a promise, not a threat, and Saurfang gave a nod of understanding.

 

The morning comes far too quickly, Saurfang thought. It was unpleasant to see Gylledra packing her things into the saddle bags of their horses but at least this time she was departing on good terms and it wasn’t permanent. He busied himself with breakfast despite a lack of appetite in a poor attempt to not look as though he was mooning over her. Northrend was going to be cold, his bed in particular. Most nights he hadn’t even bothered to sleep in the bed he used to share with Gylledra, instead sleeping in the barracks down below.

He walked with Gylledra out to the great elevator, the human girl in tow until Nasorya thoughtfully grabbed the back of her cloak, halting her abruptly to give them privacy. Thoughtful and unexpected, he mused, he knew the dragon cared more for Gylledra’s happiness than anything, even if it meant allowing her to be alone with him, the villainous, heart-crushing orc.

“When will I see you again?” He asked as the platform began its descent. She looked up, a half smile on her lips.

“I’m not sure my work will take me to Northrend, considering that I’d likely clap and throw confetti if it sank into the sea.” She told him. “But I imagine I could find a reason to make my way in that direction.”

“You would do that?” He barely refrained from grinning.

“Unlike you, I have no orders to follow, only orders to give, so I may do as I like.” She stepped off the platform onto the lower walkway, Saurfang on her heels.

“I would like to write to you in the meantime.” He took her hands and she nodded.

“I think that is acceptable.” She looked shyly away, the elephant in the room trumpeting up a storm as they both seemed to be trying to ignore it. “I will see to it that I send an agent up there.”

“They’ll probably think they’re being punished.” He chuckled.

“Orders are orders.” The air of caution about her cut Saurfang like a knife, but it was understandable. Their last farewell had been anything but a farewell. Knowing how much she disliked walking on eggshells, he threw away his own caution, pulling her close. She seemed to melt against him and he rested his chin against the top of her head.

“I expected never to be like this with you again.” He whispered. Gylledra made a quiet sound of agreement, her arms around him. “One piece back in place, many still to go, but I am patient.”

“You’re far more patient than I am.” She gave a mock-irritated scoff. “I suppose being apart will ensure patience though, for whatever we need it for.” She gave him that look again, the one that once upon a time meant excusing themselves from whatever obligation they were in the midst of to find some secluded corner or closet to give in to their baser natures. Their chaperone no doubt looked on from up above and while Gylledra’s eyes widened for a moment as Saurfang bent toward her, he kissed her cheek, lingering just a beat too long, inhaling her scent.

“I will miss you while we’re apart.” He said, stepping back. “But I will look forward to your letter.” She watched him a moment as he stepped backward onto the elevator platform.

“I will miss you too.”

 

At the top, Nasorya and Sirno waited with Vorna, who looked more than a little annoyed. She said nothing as she and Nasorya led the horses onto the platform before it descended again. Sirno’s gaze was burning into Saurfang, though, he could feel it and finally turned to her.

“ _What_ , Sirno?”

“I know what happened, High Overlord.” She told him, her voice dangerously quiet. “Nasorya knows too…and it is clear that Gylledra does not because you did not tell her.”

“Tell her wha—” He halted, clenching his teeth. _Not yet_ , he thought. Their reconciliation was still so fragile. He wondered how they even knew.

The look of disapproval on Sirno’s face bordered on rage. “Don’t you think it is something you ought to tell her before things get too far? She has a right to know what happened, _my lord_.” Without another word, she turned and marched onto the platform as it lowered, leaving him at the edge of the elevator with nothing to do but watch as below, his mate rode away.


	9. Chapter 9

“Well.” Sirno started. “That visit wasn’t quite what I anticipated.”

“It _was_ a bit of a shock.” Gylledra agreed then gave Nasorya a sidelong look. The two of them rode on either side of her with Vorna bringing up the rear.

“I knew nothing!” Nasorya declared. “Baine said he’d planned to meddle despite it _not_ being his business, but he never said when. Saurfang showed up and I assumed you were still in Darnassus!”

“Ha! You wouldn’t have warned her if you _had_ known.” Sirno shot back with a short laugh.

“That’s…beside the point.” Nasorya made a face, turning forward.

“So, anyway…” Gylledra cleared her throat. “The circumstances around Cairne’s death are very suspicious. Have there been any whispers about Hellscream’s involvement?”

“There have been plenty of whispers, but as for actual information, it seems he was not aware that the Grimtotems had such a thing planned.” Sirno reported.

“While he is a hateful, violent person, he is also arrogant and an orc. I cannot imagine he could hold his head up in any sort of honor if he had been victorious only through cheating.” Gylledra told them. Nasorya nodded, begrudgingly conceding to the point. She’d loathed Garrosh even _before_ learning his name was Hellscream. She hung back then to ride beside Vorna. “What did you think of the Horde? What little of it you saw here.”

“It was not what I would have expected.” She admitted. “Between my memories from when I was a girl and being told my whole life what vicious, savage monsters all Horde are…I thought to see snarling beasts, not peaceful people.”

“Much of everything is perception. Each side has its own ideas about the other and those of us who see all sides usually can be found shaking our heads.” Gylledra told her.

“I would be interested to see all sides, to see those perceptions and see why they’re not quite right.” Vorna replied. “Your mate…I remember him too, from that day.”

“Do you?” Gylledra was a little skeptical.

“I didn’t understand anything any of you said of course, but I remember he was there.”

“When it comes down to it, it was Varok who stopped them from killing you, not me. I merely helped. A whole band of orcs wasn’t going to listen to an elf.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” The young woman stared into the distance for a short while, occupied by her own thoughts.

Gylledra had her own thoughts to attend to. There hadn’t been much time for any sort of useful introspection during the short visit to Thunder Bluff. She had been rather calm and cool-headed despite the shock of unexpectedly finding herself face to face with Varok. It would have been only too easy to simply return to Warsong Hold with him and resume life as it once was, but her rational sense, what shreds of it she had left where he was concerned, kept her from jumping back in too quickly. There was also the matter of Garrosh Hellscream and his indiscriminate loathing of all elves. She was relatively certain that even the Blood Elves, _allies_ of the Horde, were not welcome in his eyes. With him as Warchief, Gylledra would never be able to return to her house in Orgrimmar again, which was a disheartening thought. It had been their home, they’d built it together and it was the first place that was ever truly _hers_.

“The mighty Saurfang.” Vorna murmured, pulling Gylledra from her musings.

“Hm?”

“I gleaned some information from overhearing tauren conversations.”

“I thought you weren’t subtle enough for information gathering.” Gylledra looked over at Vorna, who shrugged.

“I thought not, but I’ve spent my life on a bloody farm, I haven’t exactly _tried_ poking around other people’s business before.”

“Before _yesterday_.”

“Yes, _before_ yesterday.”

“Well, if espionage is what you’re interested in, I could have Sirno…”

“ _NOPE._ ” Sirno called without turning around. Gylledra laughed.

“Whatever your strengths are, they will be figured out during training.” She told the girl. “For better or for worse.”

“That sounds ominous.” Vorna narrowed her eyes at her.

“I hold those who swear themselves to the Nameless to a high standard, which means the training is grueling. Not everyone who goes in makes it.”

“They die?” Vorna frowned. Ahead of them, Nasorya and Sirno stifled their sniggering.

“Not typically, though I won’t say it’s never happened.” It was always something of a shock for those who had barely traveled anywhere or left their homes when they signed up for the Nameless. “Those who choose to leave are compensated for their time. I don’t shame them for their choice, this life isn’t for everyone and that is fine. Though, depending on the circumstances, I may or may not step in to…alter their memories. Record is kept of those my people deem as their beneficiaries, and in the event that they die during their time serving the Nameless, I ensure their families will live comfortably. Even if the soldier dies due to something outside and unrelated.”

“That’s…very generous of you.”

“Ideally, I want people to join the Nameless because they share my principles about protecting this world, some do it because it provides for their families, but they all still obey the rules I’ve put in place. You have seen what happens when the rules are broken.”

“Yes…and yet those who serve you seem not to do it for fear they will die.”

“Not every broken rule is punishable by death.” Gylledra chuckled. “No leader who uses fear and violence to get obedience ever remains in their position for long. They serve and obey me because they trust me. They trust that I do not break my promises. They know that their service in life and in death is compensated fairly, and that their loved ones will be okay should anything happen. They also know that there are consequences for their actions.”

“So…essentially, they feel…safe. I can see then why they remain loyal. The benefits of their loyalty far outweigh what could be had otherwise.”

“That’s the idea.”

“It sounds too good to be true.” Vorna told her. “How can you know for certain all your soldiers are following your _rules_? Obviously the ones in Thorne escaped your notice.”

“Because I am not perfect and am as likely to make a mistake as anyone else. There is no perfect system, there will always be those who try to undermine the work we do, those who seek to take advantage of what they think is excessive generosity. There are far too many who view kindness as weakness, but with blade and fire, I show them just how weak I am.”

 

Sirno vanished as they drew nearer to Theramore Isle; tension between the Horde and Alliance was mounting and an orc would not be welcome even as Gylledra’s guest. The area was not at peace by any means, forces and supplies streamed from the human city-state into the Southern Barrens to establish footholds from which to mount a defense from the inevitable attacks from Garrosh Hellscream.

The world had been torn asunder with the emergence of Deathwing and Gylledra had chosen to focus her forces on the survivors by helping the wounded, rebuilding homes and villages, and providing supplies. It indeed freed up a lot of the faction resources to focus on combating the problem but also it served to earn the trust of the people, which meant when the time came to recruit and call to arms against the Legion, there would be more willing to join with her.

 

Vorna had visibly relaxed when they crossed the bridge into Theramore, still more comfortable around her own kind. It would take time for her to adjust to more…diversity. Gylledra had visited Jaina here on many occasions throughout the years. They had developed a mutual respect for one another as fellow mages, though Gylledra, being unable to _entirely_ escape the elitist mindset of most Nightborne, believed Jaina’s abilities to be somewhat…lesser than her own. But, unlike other Nightborne mages, she would never behave in a demeaning way toward others.

“I _thought_ that was you, good to see you, Gylledra.” Jaina called as she exited a small shop. “And welcome, Nasorya. It’s been quite a while.”

“Yes, too long.” Gylledra replied.

“I am sorry about…what happened in Northrend. How are…things?” Not knowing who Gylledra was traveling with, Jaina would not mention specific details, she was no fool.

“It’s been a difficult year.” She replied with equally measured vagueness. “Theramore is looking good, it appears you were able to make repairs quickly.”

“We were much more fortunate than a lot of other places.” Jaina nodded. “Who is this?”

“I am Vorna, from the kingdom of Stormwind.”

“Welcome to Theramore, Vorna. I am Jaina Proudmore.” Jaina smiled warmly and gestured to her tower. “Come, we’ll get you settled in and fed. There are some books I’d like you to take a look at, Gylledra.”

 

The human mage knew nothing of Gylledra’s involvement with the Nameless. There were almost none now who didn’t know they existed, however. Their friendship was based primarily on their shared skills, talents, and interests and had little to do with alliances or factions.

After a small meal, Nasorya feigned exhaustion and retired to her room where Gylledra knew she would remain for all of ten minutes before venturing out to make contact with the handful of Nameless agents that resided in Theramore. Vorna was content to have time to herself and it freed up some of Gylledra’s time to have an uninterrupted visit with Jaina.

The tomes sitting out on the table up in the tower were _very_ familiar and Gylledra went to them immediately, her fingers running over the ornate covers.

“I am curious how you managed to come across these.” She said evenly.

“Two of my agents were doing some investigating in the Broken Isles.”

“So, they were in Suramar.” Gylledra gave her a half smile.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“These are Shal’dorei books. Did your agents happen to mention the massive arcane shield they no doubt encountered?”

“Yes…you know of it?” Jaina’s eyes narrowed.

“I lived beneath it for the better part of five millennia, so I am curious, naturally, as to how these got out to where just anyone might come across them.”

“So then…you are shal’dorei? What does that mean? I thought you were simply an…errant Night Elf, to be honest.” The young woman gave a short laugh.

“It is a misconception I intentionally allow to perpetuate, it means fewer explanations.” Gylledra told her. “As far as I know, the Nightborne still remain beneath their shield convinced the rest of the world has been destroyed.”

 “I could tell it was elven, but the dialect is unlike what I’ve seen before, it seems so much more…”

“Sophisticated?” Gylledra offered, picking up one of the books. “We are, of course. Kaldorei spent ten thousand years in caves and trees, the Nightborne spent all that time with nothing to do but learn and perfect the use of the arcane. So, naturally, as scholars, we evolved differently than our druidic… _cousins_.” She leafed through the pages, scanning the words. “This tome is primarily mending and healing, though it does go into the precise mechanisms that allow rent flesh to knit together again. It’s quite interesting…”

“Arcane healing?”

“Yes, it’s very effective and comes with none of the guilt priests like to lay on so that the injured will praise the _Light_.” Gylledra chuckled, put the book down and picked up another. It was a little worse for the wear and she flipped through some of the pages. “This one has to do with the mathematics and mechanics involved in building devices capable of manipulating and redirecting ley lines…not really something you want to fall into the hands of just anyone; fortunately, everyone who is fluent in Shalassian is either still in Suramar or…right here in this room.” Not counting Nasorya and Varok, both of whom spoke it well, neither of which would care a fig for ley line redirection. For these books to have been found at all, someone must have gotten out of the city with them, but undoubtedly died shortly thereafter without the Nightwell’s sustenance. The last book, there was an arcane glow from the cracks in the leather and each crease. The pages themselves were saturated with power and familiarity.

“I cannot open that one, there are locks or wards of some sort on it.” Jaina sidled closer.

The mage was right, it was indeed protected, and to Gylledra’s delight the mechanisms that guarded the contents of the book were of _her_ own design. It required Nightborne hands and the ability to sense the subtle, delicate nuances of the arcane. The lock itself was a rotating equation, the variables of which would need to be tediously calculated by anyone unfamiliar with it, and then, if they took too long, they would have to start all over again. As Gylledra picked it up, various sigils illuminated in the air around the book itself.

“It did not do that when I picked it up…” Jaina murmured, watching, fascinated as Gylledra turned the sigil-dials, each ring unlocking one at a time, requiring adjustments to smaller rings. Finally, the glowing blue arcane gave a golden flash and she lifted the cover. Jaina stared, hungry for knowledge. “How did you do that?”

“I created the seals to keep the lesser Highborne from accessing what lies within.” Gylledra was wary of the bright-eyed need in Jaina’s eyes.

“Lesser Highborne?”

“Yes, the power-hungry who would use such knowledge for their own personal gain.”

“What is it, exactly, that lies within?”

“There is a lot of information regarding chronomancy in this book, some telemancy too, but ultimately it is about the process of full arcane saturation, which, if you aren’t a dragon, is what’s required to _truly_ manipulate time and the very fabric of reality.”

“And what exactly _is_ arcane saturation?” Jaina couldn’t take her eyes from the book, her stare fixed on the glowing sigils of the first page.

“It is how the Nightborne became what we are. The city of Suramar is beneath the shield where all my people still reside, tied to a font of power called the Nightwell. Inside, without food, the only thing we had was the power from the Nightwell and so we survived by taking arcane into ourselves as food and drink, the very air within the city is arcane. It gave us life when there was nothing else that could, and it changed us, it is why we bear these marks.”

“Does that affect your abilities? Does it make you stronger?”

“If I wished it, I could level this tower and rebuild it in a minute, many Nightborne could if they put their mind to it.”

“Dangerous, potent power, then.”

“Yes, and that is why this tome stays locked.” Gylledra snapped the cover shut and the seals all flashed back into place.

“Could the book be destroyed to keep it from getting into the wrong hands?”

“Unlikely. You probably found it because someone tried and was not successful.” Gylledra ran her fingers over the cover. She’d _written_ portions of that book a _very_ long time ago and she wondered at her memory of who she was then compared to who she was now. There had been so little room in her life for anything but training for so long. Training with the Moon Guard and training with the arcane. She’d have risen well into government had she ever been able to take an order without questioning it first.

Her mind was ruled by logic and analysis and the first thing that had made her feel with any depth at all was the murder of her family, which naturally had then also been tucked away, unaddressed. She’d relished in ignoring anything outside of cold calculation and for a long time, especially after the shield went up over Suramar, she was known for being without feeling. She’d been single-mindedly determined to develop weapons and strategies to prepare for the next invasion, there was nothing else that mattered before her return to Azeroth.

“I will be sure to keep them safe here in my library.” Jaina assured her.

“Impressive additions to any collection.” Gylledra replied, her eyes moving over the shelves. Vorna was probably lurking around somewhere trying to glean more information with her newfound eavesdropping skill. “What are these?” She touched the lid of an ornate box; sitting beside it was one that matched except that the stone inlaid on the latch was green on one and blue on the other.

“They were a gift I never found practical use for. You put something in one, and it appears in the other.” Jaina explained.

“I would think that might be incredibly useful, I’m surprised you _don’t_ use them.”

“Ah, well, it is that they remind me of things I would rather not think about.”

“Oh, I see.” Gylledra murmured. “They’re lovely.”

“Do you want them?”

“What? No, I couldn’t…” She blinked, surprised and the young mage gave a shrug, shaking her head.

“They collect dust on my shelf, you might have better use for them than I.” She smiled. “Since…I believe your mate is still assigned to Northrend?”

“Ah…yes.” Gylledra nodded. “Someone must watch the north, I suppose.”

“I am sorry for what happened there, and I can only be in awe of the depth of your affection for each other, that such a loss did not shake what you have.”

“Oh, it did.” Gylledra gave a mirthless sort of laugh. “We were apart since Angrathar, until just recently. We have a lot of mending to do.”

“Then I hope my gift will aid you in that.” Jaina smiled, putting the boxes into Gylledra’s hands.

“Thank you, truly.”

 

There were not many guest chambers in Theramore so Gylledra was sharing a small, dormitory style room with Nasorya and Vorna. The room was empty when she returned and set the boxes on the table. She flicked open the latch with the blue stone in it and opened the lid to find the inside was polished wood with a velvet bottom. There appeared to be nothing particularly special about it but she could feel the arcane laced through its creation. Somehow, it had never occurred to her to create such a thing, but then, the level of subtle telemancy required for such a thing wasn’t something easily accomplished by just any mage. It made her wonder just who had given it to Jaina…and why it elicited unpleasant memories.

“What’s that?” Nasorya asked as she entered, Vorna on her heels.

“Jaina gave them to me, if you put something in on, it appears in the other.” Gylledra replied. She grabbed an ink bottle and stuck it in the box then closed the lid. The green stone of the latch of the other box gave a strange sort of shimmer and she opened it up. Inside, was the ink bottle. “Huh. It works.”

“Did you really think something a mage gave you wouldn’t work?” Vorna asked.

“You haven’t met many mages.” Nasorya told her with a scoff.

“I’m going to make a small modification and then send one to Varok.” Gylledra explained, setting the ink back on the desk. “That way things can be sent quickly and only he and I can access whatever is in the boxes.”

“Oh, for your love letters.” Vorna grinned and Nasorya scoffed.

“More like their devious and highly-likely-to-succeed plots to take over all of Azeroth.” She replied.

“What?” Vorna frowned.

“You will learn quickly, Vorna, that most everything at falls out of Nasorya’s mouth is total bullshit.” Gylledra told her.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

The orc woman waiting for Saurfang was standing beside a table, clad head to toe in black leather. Her skin was a mossy shade of green, her black hair cut into a jagged sort of mohawk. On the table was a parcel. This orc was one of Gylledra’s most dangerous agents, though also, she was amongst the most trusted.

“Hello, Sirno.” He greeted a little warily, their last encounter in Mulgore wasn’t particularly pleasant.

“Good to see you, High Overlord. My lady has sent me with a gift and a message for you.” She told him, striding forward. She was more graceful than most orcs and always had a look on her face like she was in on a joke no one else was. She picked up the parcel and handed it to him then waited expectantly.

“Am I to open it in front of you?” He gave her a level look.

“Yes.” She shrugged and Saurfang gave a sigh, before peeling back the paper.

It was an ornately carved, hinged box with a latch. On the latch was a green stone that had drawn his attention immediately, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d been around Gylledra long enough to tell when an object was imbued with power, and he opened it. It seemed ordinary, though he did like it. He glanced up at Sirno who held out a folded message which he took and read.

 

_Dear Varok,_

_This box is one of a pair, I have the other. When you put something inside it, and then close the latch, it will appear in the one I have. I thought it might be nice to have a more convenient way to communicate. I hope to hear from you soon._

_-Gylledra_

He tucked the note into his belt and picked up the box again, looking at it more closely. It wasn’t elven made, but he saw the tiny Shalassian carvings around the edges of the lid. They weren’t words he’d seen before and so couldn’t translate but Gylledra had obviously put them there, probably some kind of safety feature to keep their correspondence private.

“My lord, is there anything you need?” One of his over-zealous young guards asked as she came into the war room. Saurfang wasn’t sure what she’d done to be assigned to Northrend but she’d obviously irritated someone. He couldn’t think of any other reason someone would be sent there. But…she was Mag’har, she had grown up in Garadar…with Dranosh, so…he was more lenient with her.

“No, Kryna.” Glancing around, he spotted a paper weight and stuck it in the box, latching it. He gave it a shake and heard the rattle but then the box was noticeably lighter and he opened the lid. The paper weight was gone. “Huh.” He gave a half smile. “So it works.”

“Of course it works.” Sirno scoffed, then eyed the guard who was looking on curiously instead of leaving like she probably should have. Saurfang opened the box again and put in a coin and repeated the process, amused. After the third item, the green stone on the front gave an odd sort of twinkle and he quickly looked in to find a small, folded scrap of paper. ‘ _Really?’_ was scribbled on it in Gylledra’s handwriting and he laughed aloud.

“What is it?” Kryna took a couple steps toward him.

“Has your chain of command gotten so lax, Saurfang?” Sirno asked suddenly, a dangerous note in her voice and he looked up to find her staring down the young Mag’har with a scathing glare.

“It has not. You were dismissed, guard.” He frowned and Kryna’s face flashed anger before she gave a quick salute and disappeared once more.

“Gylledra will eviscerate that girl.” Sirno folded her arms, looking grimly amused. “I’d suggest getting rid of your…admirer.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He growled. “Will you be staying long?” His tone suggested he really preferred she didn’t and Sirno shook her head.

“My orders were to get you the parcel then get back, don’t worry, I’m not lingering to socialize.” It was impossible to tell how Sirno felt about anything, one moment she was sly and sultry and the next she was covered in blood. She was on a short list of people he hoped he never had to cross and once she was gone, he relaxed some.

“Well. _She_ certainly seems like a spy.” Kryna had returned, unbidden, as usual.

“She is.” He murmured, and closed the box from Gylledra.

“For who?” She folded her arms and leaned back against the table.

“My mate.” Saurfang watched Kryna’s eyes grow wide with confusion.

“What? Your _what?_ ” She spluttered, standing up straight again. “I thought your mate died thirty years ago.”

“My son’s mother is dead, my mate is not.” He started out of the war room and she followed.

“You never said…you never mentioned…her.” She replied, coming up alongside of him.

“Kryna.” He sighed, stopped, and turned to her. “You’re young, and a capable warrior. It would serve you well to request a reassignment to Orgrimmar, or anywhere else. It is a waste to remain here.” Shock struck her face as though he’d slapped her. He could have simply had her reassigned, sent her away to some more active outpost in Kalimdor or the Eastern Kingdoms, but to do so might be too harsh, he thought. Perhaps he was getting soft in his old age. He stepped into his quarters, leaving her in the hall, then shut the door, locking it so she could not follow.


	10. Chapter 10

Jaina had been so kind as to provide a portal to Stormwind when Gylledra and her companions departed. Once on the other side, Vorna looked shaken, but at least this time she managed to stay on her feet, still breathing hard, though. She gave a nod though, indicating she was alright at least. They’d come out just a short way from the main gates of the city. Nasorya looked tempted to mock her but somehow managed to reign herself in for once. The girl _had_ been through a lot in the last few weeks.

“What is the plan in Stormwind?” Vorna asked.

“Well, my plan is irrelevant, all you need to be concerned with is that Lieutenant Croy is meeting us up ahead and you will go with him to begin your actual training in the Badlands.” Gylledra explained.

“The Badlands? That’s a wretched desert…”

“It is, indeed, and it’s also somewhere no one pays attention to whether or not there is a secret training camp.”

“Ah.” Vorna grimaced.

“You signed up for this…” Gylledra started.

“Yes, of course…I know that. I’m not complaining…just…preparing myself for what I imagine will be several very long weeks of great unpleasantness.”

“That’s the spirit!” Nasorya clapped her on the back with exaggerated cheerfulness.

 

Andreus Croy took Vorna and off they went so she could become better acquainted with what it meant to be Nameless. Gylledra was certain that the girl would be cursing her name before long, they all did at first, though rarely ever within earshot of a superior.

It was interesting to see a human city of Stormwind’s size since Gylledra had only seen small towns and villages before then. For the most part, no one gave her a second glance as she wandered the streets and marketplaces, Nasorya at her side providing her usual unending spew of commentary. Gylledra did, of course catch glimpses of various Nameless as they went about their lives. They all looked quite surprised to see her there but made no fuss. In the shadows, Sirno followed along, the ever watchful bodyguard. Gylledra didn’t particularly need protection, she was more than capable of defending herself, what she _did_ need was to maintain the appearance of normality. Making a scene, should any issues arise, would not do her any good when later she would need to recruit.

It had not taken long before another entity was lurking in the shadows, also following Gylledra; none other than Rell Nightwind, as mistrusting as ever. As she walked, she could sense the cat-and-mouse game the two rogues played with each other. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Sirno would toy with the night elf mercilessly.

The last stop on her little tour was naturally Stormwind Keep and getting inside unnoticed was simple enough. It was a very pristine place, kept incredibly clean and maintained. Sirno and Rell had disappeared as she neared the Keep and Gylledra wasn’t going to speculate as to why. She knew Sirno well enough to make an educated guess.

“Think anyone is home?” Nasorya asked.

“Yes, I imagine Varian and Anduin are both currently in residence considering the concentration of guards around.” Gylledra replied.

“I thought there was a lot of them, but wasn’t sure if perhaps humans were simply overly cautious because they’re small and squish easily.”

“That’s a plausible theory as well.”

The library was expansive and delightfully quiet. Gylledra ran her fingers along the spines of the books, periodically pulling out a book and flipping through it before replacing it. Varian was definitely at the keep, not out and about dealing with whatever kingly responsibilities he had. The significantly larger number of guards also meant Anduin was very nearby. His father was extremely protective of him.

“Gylledra?” A young male voice said, echoing in the silence. She looked up, smiling at the prince and put back the book she had been scanning through. Behind her, Nasorya was sprawled on a bench, holding a book up over her face, reading.

“Hello, Anduin.” Gylledra greeted. He looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so at least.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting.” She replied, cryptically.

“Where are my manners…welcome to Stormwind, I assume you haven’t been here before?” he came forward, shoulders back, gangly in his adolescence.

“Thank you…and you are correct, I have not had cause before to visit your city. How were things under the tutelage of Velen?”

“Educational.” He smiled. “He has much yet to teach me.”

“I imagine so.” Gylledra was about to ask him something else when a booming voice called for Anduin. His father came around the end of the shelf and halted, surprised to see her there with the prince.

“Gylledra.” He blinked. “What are you doing here?” She grinned then.

“Like father like son.” She chuckled. “I’ve never been to Stormwind, so I thought I would come see it for myself.”

“Anduin…” Varian started.

“I met Gylledra in Darnassus, father.” The prince told him quickly. “She was speaking with Velen and he introduced her to me.”

“I see…well, I invite you as our guest, then, Gylledra.” He looked behind her. “And your…associate. You are welcome to roam the keep as you will, and I would ask that you dine with us if you wish.” It was obvious that the king still had no idea what to make of her, knowing what he did about her.

“Thank you, I would be happy to. There is much I would like to discuss.”

“I bet.” The grumpy king muttered. He made a gesture and a servant seemed to appear from some hidden location, ready as ever to serve his lord and master. “See to it Lady Alenos and her traveling companion are given rooms befitting personal guests of mine.”

“Yes, sire.” The young man bowed. “Lady Alenos. Madam. If you would please follow me, I will direct you to where you may freshen up and rest before dinner.”

“Dinner is in an hour.” Varian added, watching her with a carefully guarded expression.

“I will see the two of you then.” She smiled and followed the now-silent servant. Nasorya hopped to her feet and shoved the book she’d been reading into Varian’s hands before coming along.

They were led through several winding halls and staircases before their guide opened an ornate wooden door. The king had assigned Gylledra and Nasorya an actual suite of rooms, to her surprise. She’d been expecting something simple and ordinary, considering the chilly interactions they’d had so far. There was a sitting room with a fireplace and shelves of books, a bath chamber and water closet, and of course a rather luxurious bedroom with another adjoining from the sitting room.

“Impressive.” Nasorya murmured.

“Someone will come get you for dinner if you wish, my ladies.” The servant told them.

“Yes, that would be good, thank you.” Gylledra told him, and with a bow he left the room. Less than a minute later, the door opened again and Sirno slipped in. Nasorya gave a laugh.

“Varian would shit if he knew how easily an orc got into his palace.”

“His guards aren’t half as observant as they think they are.” Sirno replied.

“How did you shake off Rell?” Gylledra asked.

“Oh, he won’t be bothering you for a while I think.” The orc grinned and it was hard to tell if it was menacing or not, as menacing was her natural state.

“What did you do?” She frowned.

“Nothing bad.” Sirno gave a shrug and Gylledra narrowed her eyes. “He’s not injured…and actually it was a good time. Night elves are…surprising.” That lascivious smirk she gave said it all.

“He hates himself now, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, probably.” At that, Nasorya gave Sirno a high-five.

 

* * *

 

Varian was not particularly disappointed when Gylledra arrived to dinner without Nasorya in tow. She hadn’t really wanted to come and Gylledra knew it would be undue antagonism when she needed to be on good terms with the human king _and_ his kingdom.

“The last time we spoke, you were on your way to sort out a…matter.” Varian started. “How was that handled?” She wondered if he’d dance around being direct in an attempt to spare his son the gory details, so she decided to _not_ spare any details.

“I went to the village where I tried the accused then publically burned the guilty.” She replied, taking a bite. Anduin gasped and inhaled a piece of food, coughing suddenly. His father glanced at him but largely was unmoved as the boy cleared his throat, just looking a little shocked. “I compensated the victims as best I was able and they were satisfied by the justice they saw.”

“Burning people alive is justice?” Anduin interjected before his father could. Interestingly, Varian gave a wave and all the servants vanished, making their conversation truly private.

“I have a very particular set of rules that those who serve me are to abide by. They are not complicated or difficult to successfully obey. Fifteen of my people flouted their responsibilities and then broke the oaths they swore.” She told him. Varian watched, interested, likely enjoying that he wasn’t the one his Light-touting son wasn’t grilling for once.

“Are your rules so rigid that _fifteen_ people deserved to die?”

“They were guilty of assault, theft, rape, and murder. They terrorized a human village out of greed. They had sworn to uphold and protect all life on Azeroth, to fight against any force that would seek to harm this world and the people in it. Instead, they chose to do the exact opposite, despite swearing on their lives not to.” Gylledra explained.

“So you killed them? True their offenses were heinous but…was there no other option? Was there not some prison they could have been put in?”

“Young prince, this world has been shattered and is scrambling to put itself back together. It is imperative that every resource go toward aiding the _innocent_ people. You would take from them to keep murderers alive?” She watched him closely and to her surprise, Varian seemed intrigued by the exchange, dark as the topic was. “I did not enjoy executing them, it brought me no pleasure. In times of crisis, the good of the people should lie at the center of decisions. That means making difficult choices and doing things that under other circumstances might be dealt with differently.”

“It is just…you seem to be unaffected by their deaths.” His shoulders slumped a little.

“I was deeply affected, Anduin, do not doubt that. Every life taken means something.”

“What of their families? What did you tell them?”

“I notified them of the deaths and as agreed when the oaths were sworn, I ensured they would live comfortably.”

“Oh.” The boy looked surprised. “So…their families did not suffer?”

“Of course not.”

“I think then I can at least understand your perspective, even if it is different from my own.”

“It sounds to me like everything was well-handled.” Varian finally joined the conversation. “I imagine there will not be such mishaps in the future?”

“I hope not.” Gylledra replied. “It is unlikely, I think, since they know for certain that I follow through.”

“What is it you _do?_ ” Anduin asked. She glanced at Varian who gave a subtle nod. So, she would reveal the truth to an adolescent prince. He at least seemed to have a good head on his shoulders so she let out a long breath.

“Do you know of the Nameless Army?”

“I have heard some…they held back the scourge to allow troops to get into Ice Crown, and they have helped many of the victims of the cataclysm, yes?”

“That is correct.” She gave a nod. “I am their General.” Anduin’s jaw dropped open in a very un-princely way.

“I didn’t know…”

“No one does, Anduin.” Varian told him. “It is very privileged knowledge.”

“I understand, father. Thank you for trusting us, Gylledra.” The prince smiled, his face composed again and she gave a nod.

“Our efforts are ongoing, I have stationed some soldiers at the various locations where the elemental unrest is at the greatest risk to civilians.” Gylledra aimlessly pushed her food around her plate as she thought about it. “I would aid in other ways, but we are spread out across all of Azeroth as it is. At this juncture it is most important to me to help those not at the forefront of the minds of the leaders.”

“Are you implying I do not think of my people first and foremost?” Varian frowned suddenly.

“I’m not implying anything. It is a fact that the leaders of the major factions of this world are more greatly concerned with snuffing out the threat that is harming their people, as well they all should. It was not a criticism.”

“I will do anything to save my people suffering.” The king’s frown didn’t abate, even if his tone had and she nodded.

“Of that I have no doubt, Varian. Your people are fortunate to have a king who cares, I have seen many kingdoms that were not so lucky.” She smiled.

 

The dinner conversation had steered in a safer, more neutral direction as they talked instead about military strategy. The king, as a warrior, had a lot of thoughts on the matter and couldn’t refute Gylledra’s millennia of experience. All in all she thought it was a successful exchange that helped build a relationship between her and Stormwind.

Afterward, as she wandered the expansive palace corridors, it was Anduin who seemed to materialize beside her, smiling. He was very young, but she could see in him a wisdom beyond his age. He was very different from his father, something she imagined was a point of contention between them.

“How are you, Anduin?” She asked.

“I am well.” He gave a polite smile. “I didn’t know that you and my father had met.”

“Yes, in Darnassus. I met him much as I had you, by chance.” Gylledra explained. The young prince gestured to a bench at the side of the hallway and they sat.

“I find it curious that you do not seem twisted and tainted by the shadow.” Anduin began without any real preamble. It would serve him well, she thought, to not be a leader that beat around the bush before getting to the point.

“I suppose it is a matter of coexisting with it in a way, but also bending it to my will as it does not corrupt me. The fel, no matter how forced upon me it was also never took hold and I was forced to imbibe it in the form of demon’s blood, I had fel shards shoved beneath my skin, only to have my body reject them and push them back out again. I have no secret to my power over it, it isn’t something even I understand entirely, it is why I do not teach what I practice.”

“How…how was the fel forced upon you?” His eyes were wide.

“The Legion is a very ugly thing, Anduin, are you sure you want me to share with you the nature of its horror?” Gylledra arched one brow and he nodded.

“My father usually prefers me safely away from terrible things and knowledge, despite his wish for me to be stronger and more like him.” He looked down at his knees. “I will not be like him, and while I accept it, he still struggles.” His bright blue eyes met her gaze again. “How can I ever be a good king someday if I don’t know how horrible the world can be?”

“That is a fair point. As a father I’m sure he seeks to save you from suffering, or from truths that might darken your heart. What I see that he does not, is that your heart bears the light and cannot be darkened as he fears, whatever knowledge you may come by.”

“Thank you for that.” He smiled genuinely then. “What is the worst thing you have seen or endured? If I may ask…on this world or any other. The torture you received at the hands of the Legion?” Gylledra’s brows arched high as she regarded the boy. She hoped to see him as king one day, Azeroth would be well served by someone who sought peace through the darkness of reality.

“The worst thing I have ever experienced was on this world. It was when I came face to face with an Old God.” The memory and subsequent events were something she had spoken of only to Varok. The shock on Anduin’s face spoke volumes. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the war in Silithus.”

“Ahn’Qiraj, yes.”

“I found my way to C’Thun, I could hear it calling across all things shadow and well, I had never been face to face with one of its kind before. It assumed it had control over me because I use the shadow, and I didn’t say otherwise.” Gylledra stared into space for a long moment. “As though to test me, it showed me a thousand different ways everything I cared about would be destroyed. When I did not react, despite the very essence of myself feeling shredded and screaming, it truly believed me to be powerless to resist suggestion, it expected me to obey it orders to ensure any who came to fight would be destroyed. It was the first time I had ever heard whispers from the Void, all the things that had sought to tempt me and twist me for so long thought they’d gained a foothold in my mind.” It felt strange to talk about, but the boy had a calming way about him. “It promised me power in exchange for my complicity in destroying its enemies. I asked then how I could serve to the best of my ability if I was not granted such a boon up front.”

“And it believed you?” Anduin’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“It is easy to deceive something that believes itself all powerful, that believes it has done everything to ensure victory. Arrogance is often the greatest weakness of any powerful being.” She told him with a mirthless laugh. “So, it agreed and gave me access to power unlike anything I had ever even imagined to exist. I could easily see myself holding dominion over countless realms with what I had been given, but that wasn’t what I wanted and instead I used it to place within C’Thun a festering arcane wound, a void-consuming infection made from the very energy that shaped this world. I left it there screaming and furious as it told me I would succumb to the power it gave me, so I gave it back.”

“Gave it _back?_ ” Anduin gasped.

“Well, in a way, yes. I gated myself off from its use, it was too much, too tempting, too volatile. It was much more than any individual from any corporeal race should have. I am confident enough in what I can do. The harm it did still lingers, the horrors I was forced to envision myself taking part in have not left me. Nightmares come and go and when things are the darkest, I am reminded that there is but one barrier between me and that power, but I will not become the next Old God. I don’t desire power over nations, only victory over the Legion.”

“That’s all well and good, but what truly exists to keep you from giving in to that temptation?” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Much less than I would prefer.”

“And this all is just _known_ by your people?”

“A grand total of two people know it now. My mate, and now you.” She replied. “It is dangerous knowledge, not something I would reveal to anyone I thought capable of growing power-hungry.”

“I appreciate that you think so highly of me.”

“Well, you can rest assured, as I have told others, should you become a leader that brings danger to this world, I will unseat you without a second thought.” She gave a shrug as the boy’s eyes bugged out.

“I am sure such a promise will keep many in line.”

“That is my hope.”

 

 

* * *

 

The stone on the message box glinted a little when Gylledra returned to her rooms and she felt a little flutter in her gut. Varok had sent her something. She didn’t know or care what Nasorya and Sirno were up to, likely some sort of trouble-making as they could be counted on for little else in such cases. It had taken very little time to port Sirno to and from Warsong Hold to deliver her gift to Varok, she truthfully could have delivered it herself, but she didn’t think having so much time face to face so soon would be good for her self-control. Inside the box was a couple sheets of folded parchment which she took before kicking the bedchamber door shut and climbed onto her bed. Quickly she shoved off her boots before lying back to read Varok’s letter.

 

 

_Dear Gylledra,_

_I should thank you first for your willingness to write, and then second for this strange magic box. Just knowing you wish to communicate, by whatever means, eases some of the great darkness that hangs overhead. We have already spoken of regret and apologies, it would not do for me to reiterate it here. I think I’ve come to loathe this place as much as you ever did while you were here, though now it is much colder than it was. The forges are all extinguished and it seems dark most of the time. Most who remain here are like me, content to be away from the freely flowing blood, though there are arrivals periodically who clearly are sent here as punishment._

_I have thought of you every day since you’ve been gone, and missed you more than my limited Shalassian vocabulary can describe. I could hardly sleep the night by the fireside in Mulgore, for fear of missing a moment of having you in my arms again. No doubt this sounds like terrible poetry written by a half-stupid bard that got stepped on by a kodo. I’m not accustomed to putting things into words._

_I presume you are in Stormwind by now, how fares the arrogant human king? He’s got a temper, that one. I would advise caution but really he should be the one concerned for his safety should he misstep. Ha! An amusing thought. Anyway, please write soon. I love you._

_Yours, ever faithful, Varok_

 

 

Gylledra grinned like a silly fool and quickly snatched up some paper and a pen.

 

_Varok,_

_We must come up with a name for your alter-ego, the half-stupid kodo-trodden bard. I’m interested in what other terrible poetry he might spout. My eyes being like starlight or some such thing, perhaps. Remember later when this comes back to haunt you…it is your doing._

_Yes, I am in Stormwind. Given a suite and everything. Varian knows my secret, he was rather disconcerted to learn of it, but I trust he can keep it to himself. He couldn’t really argue with free assistance for his people after all._

_I have missed you too…like…dry earth misses rain? I’m really no better at the poetry._

_Love, Gylledra_

 

She stuffed the note into the box and to her surprise only a few moments later, the stone glinted as he replied already. He’d written beneath her reply.

 

_I’ll leave the creative naming up to you. As for your poetry, you should be careful, that could be easily misconstrued, as you’ve basically written that I make you wet._

 

She gasped and was embarrassed by the giggle that bubbled up inside her, grateful she was alone. With her lower lip between her teeth and grinning, she wrote her response.

 

_Well…it’s not incorrect…_

_Anyway. How about Spud as a name?_

 

Into the box it went, his answer promptly coming back.

 

_No. He may be half stupid, but he is no potato._

_How is the forecast? Rain in the near future?_

 

Gylledra made a strangled noise of amusement, trying to keep quiet as she heard movement in the sitting room. Her cheeks almost hurt from grinning.

 

_How about Dorf?_

_Not sure of the weather just yet…predicting an eventual flood._

 

She wondered how wise it was to have started this dialogue, and while on one hand she was mildly shocked as the direction it had gone in so quickly, it wasn’t a terrible surprise. Since leaving Varok in Thunder Bluff, she’d felt like she was on fire and could hardly keep thoughts of that nature from bombarding her mind constantly.

 

_Fine, Dorf the half-stupid, kodo-trodden bard it is. I regret his existence already!_

_I shall make certain to plan accordingly for the weather. It grows late and I’d best get some rest before things get out of…hand. Goodnight. I love you._

 

Her jaw dropped at his bold implication but scribbled her goodnight on a smaller scrap of paper so she could read through their silly messages some more. Her heart was beating faster and she felt strange and giddy, almost as ridiculous as she had felt all those years ago when she first could not keep her eyes from roaming over every bit of Varok. It would be good, once the time came, to have him at her side once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Nasorya considered herself to be a rather open-minded individual, but she hadn’t settled yet on a fully formed opinion of humans, even seven years after first encountering them. Gylledra had involved them in her organization since its inception and they’d proven to be useful, contributing members, but they could also be dangerous and conniving, but really, that was true of any people.

She found she didn’t particularly care for the King of Stormwind, he was a bit of a dick, though that wasn’t necessarily reflected in how he led his people. He was willing to do whatever it took to ensure his kingdom’s safety. There were plenty of rulers far worse than that, shitty attitude aside. The prince was of a gentler nature and seemed immune to his father’s rage at least.

Whatever the state of the humans, it was the Horde and its leader that were most concerning. Pava had been assigned to keep an eye on things in Orgrimmar and so far, none of her reports had brought good news. Garrosh Hellscream grew wildly more violent against the Alliance, and there was more and more evidence that his prejudice extended beyond just the Alliance and onto any who were not orcs.

She made her way around the king’s war room, touching _everything_ and pulling out books from shelves to flip though as Gylledra and Varian talked, pointedly ignoring her. It was less fun when no one cared that she was making trouble. There was some commotion in the throne room and Nasorya looked up from her book in time to see the King and Gylledra moving for the doorway. Outside was the indistinct but easily identifiable voice of the young prince.

Nasorya skidded through the doorway just as there was a shout and found Anduin had shielded his father as a guard lunged for him. Varian swung his sword and the attacking guard moved back so that he missed. Gylledra’s eyes turned black as she stared at the would-be assassin. The human priest who had been mentoring Anduin for the last several days stepped back, eyes glowing golden, light in the palms of his hand as he prepared to defend his king.

But something was wrong…and with a burst of swirling shadow, the guard began to change. The priest shot bolts of light at the beast, to no avail and Gylledra leapt forward, grabbing Anduin and shoving him back toward his father. There was obvious recognition on her face, whatever the guard had turned into, a towering purple mass of horror, it was not the first time she had seen one.

Void poured from her, the arcane woven through the darkness as she hurled a blast of undulating, dark fire at the creature. It screamed, retaliating with a rain of its own shadow magic but it did not touch her.

“Erf skyen’glu!” She spat. “I lwhuk skshath’yar!” The monster gave a furious roar but everyone watched, frozen in shock and terror as she tore the thing apart. It croaked something unintelligible as it died in its language…the language of the Old Gods, Nasorya knew.

“What the _hell_ was that?!” Varian demanded. Gylledra changed again, herself once more, but her eyes glowed bright, arcane blue. She gestured to the corpse and white sigils covered it, slowly consuming it and leaving nothing but a clean floor behind.

“It was N’raqi…a Faceless One.” She told them, at last entirely herself again. “It is a creature that serves the Old Gods…what are left of them.” Gylledra’s face twisted a little.

“Did you not kill it with the same shadow magic?” Varian frowned and she simply nodded. Something about Gylledra’s powers had been…different…ever since Ahn’Qiraj, but Nasorya never pressed her about it. She knew only that Gylledra had disappeared into the bowels of the city, and when she came out, those who went in were then able to defeat the Old God that dwelled within.

“It is okay, father.” Anduin stepped forward again. The priest he’d been with was staring apprehensively at Gylledra. “She controls it, not the other way around like most who delve into shadow.”

“I would never risk harming an innocent. How did you know it was here?” Her eyes were on Anduin who gave a sheepish smile.

“We uncovered his plot…the Twilight Hammer seeks to aid in Azeroth’s destruction.” The boy explained. “I admit, I _had_ wondered how you might react.”

“I am aware of the rising threat they have become.” Varian glowered. “I must be sure to order a more thorough examination of my guards.”

“We were lucky this time.” Gylledra took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking over to where Nasorya was being uncharacteristically quiet. The last year had been difficult for their friendship, they’d been apart for most of it and out of contact.

“I’d like some time with my son.” Varian replied, then turned to one of the other guards. “Lock down the keep.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

It was more uncomfortable than Gylledra had words for when Nasorya was being quiet. The silence hung between them as they retreated to their quarters. She knew there was a conversation they needed to have, though she wasn’t entirely certain what it would entail.

“What is the matter?” She asked, closing the door. Nasorya flopped down onto the settee, giving an adolescent sort of shrug and Gylledra sat beside her. “Things have all been a mess the last couple of years, I know. I’ve sort of become lost in it all, burying myself in the work and in my own sorrows.”

“I’m not sure I’ve quite forgiven you for vanishing and leaving no word.” Nasorya retorted, petulantly.

“Not that the loss of my mate and a loved one was completely overwhelming and devastating or anything.” Gylledra shot back.

“What happened in Silithus?” Nasorya demanded suddenly.

“What?”

“You heard me. In Silithus…after that war you were…darker, something I didn’t think could even happen.” She sat forward, staring at Gylledra who let out a long sigh.

“It seems impossible to look an Old God in its eye and not come back darker.” She replied.

“You mean look an Old God in _the_ eye?”

“No, _its_ eye. It only had the one.” Gylledra shrugged one shoulder and saw the smirk quiver at one side of Nasorya’s mouth. “Thing was the size of a bloody planet.”

“One good poke would have sorted it out, don’t you think?”

“It would have needed to be a particularly big stick if so.” Gylledra grinned.

“What really happened?” Nasorya sobered again.

“C’Thun tried to tempt me, I let it think it had, and when it granted me power…I used it to wound it grievously. But you do not strike up such a bargain with an Old God and then betray it and come away the same as you arrived.” Gylledra explained. “The darkness I wield seems more potent now but also I see more darkness than I did before.”

“And you told no one?”

“I told Varok. He got me through the nightmares and anchored me to this reality. C’Thun had wounded my resistance to the whispers and it took a long time to heal.”

“Oh.” Nasorya looked down at her knees.

“It was not a burden I wanted to share with anyone, even him…but I could not shoulder it alone…and his shoulders are much broader than yours or mine.” Gylledra smiled, taking Nasorya’s hand and she looked up with glassy violet eyes.

“I would bear any burden you asked.”

“I know that, and my love for you is greater than anything, but I could not risk infecting you with those shadows…C’Thun sought specifically to take control of dragons and I didn’t know if what I was experiencing might somehow give the Void access to you and your own power.”

“I see.” Nasorya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose I’m a terror as it is without an Old God or whatever else from that side rattling around in my head.”

“Exactly.” Gylledra grinned.

“That was where you were supposed to say that I’m _not_ a terror.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other.”

“You’re a bit of a bitch now, aren’t you?” Nasorya snorted, but she was smirking.

“Yes, well, that has little to do with the Void though.”

 

* * *

 

There was a note waiting in the message box for Gylledra when she stepped into her bed chamber. Snatching the box, some paper, ink, and a pen, she sat on the bed. On the folded parchment was a terrible poem, scrawled dramatically in orcish.

_If I could drink your love it would be wine_

_And then drunkenly I’d drink some more_

_I should have had a sandwich first_

_For now I can’t get off the floor_

 

Gylledra snickered to herself and replied beneath.

 

_I did not realize Dorf could rhyme!_

_I think that already my time in Stormwind grows short. I fear the king would have me stay, knowing what he does. But I don’t play favorites so I shall have to disappoint him. I am fond of the prince, however, he is wise for a child and I think I should foster my friendship with him for when he is king someday. He is more the diplomatic sort and Azeroth, I believe, is in need of more diplomats than warriors._

_How is the weather?_

 

It was not long before Varok’s response came through. Gylledra could only imagine just how dreary and tedious things were at Warsong Hold.

 

_Dorf is an intellectually compromised orc of many…well, at least three talents. He is also very bored._

_The king is at least a man of honor, though it is likely wise not to linger lest he believe himself in the possession of some mercenary force. Fortunately most focus is likely on the elemental unrest and the dragon torching all the countryside. I know you hate it here, but so far Northrend seems unscathed. Perhaps your journey should stray this way sooner rather than later._

_As for weather, it’s quite cold here…I’m frozen stiff._

 

 _You’ll warm up soon enough._ Gylledra replied cryptically, still chuckling to herself.

 

* * *

 

 

When she stepped into Varian’s map room after being summoned two days later, Gylledra found it devoid of guards and only the king himself, his spymaster Mathias Shaw, and Rell Nightwind were present. Mathias closed the door after she entered and she eyed them all with one eyebrow cocked.

“Is this a _clandestine_ meeting?” She asked.

“I assume you know Mathias Shaw.” The king replied, disregarding her question.

“We have never met formally but I would be surprised if he was not already aware of who I am.” She shook the spymaster’s hand as he extended it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Gylledra.”

“Likewise.” She smiled.

“I know you’re planning on departing within the next couple of days.” Varian went on. “I wanted the opportunity to have a secured discussion with you before you go. You have done much in service to the people of Stormwind and I have not properly expressed my gratitude for that.”

“You see, Varian, I am the general of the _Nameless,_ and our moniker implies a lack of identification which means that we don’t seek recognition or thanks for our deeds, we do what we do because it makes peoples’ lives better.” She folded her arms. “I _am_ glad for your appreciation, but we both know that none of it was for you.” He watched her for a moment, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to figure out what to say. “The point of not wanting your thanks is that neither of us owe the other any favors.”

“I see what you mean.” He replied finally. “Nevertheless, I would like to know if there is a way to get a message to you, should there be a need.”

“I suspect that Mathias and Rell have identified at least a couple of my operatives who live in Stormwind, and I trust their identities will remain unexposed. So if there is something you feel I must _absolutely_ be made aware of, that will be the only route open to you.” Gylledra leaned against the table, looking from face to face. Rell pointedly stared behind her, not making eye contact.

“I am satisfied with that.” Varian gave a nod.

“I will be away for some time, but, to save SI:7 from scurrying to find out where I will be, it is no secret. I’m going to Warsong Hold, but like I said, if you need to get a message to me I suggest not sending anyone directly as it is still a Horde territory.”

“Warsong Hold?” The king looked bewildered.

“Yes, my mate holds command there.” Gylledra stared, confused by Varian’s apparent shock at this revelation. She had assumed Rell blabbed everything he knew to his spymaster and king, but by the looks of it, the king was the only one in the room who didn’t know of her more personal involvement with the Horde. Both Rell and Mathias hadn’t told Varian _everything_ apparently. It led her to wonder why, but the evolution of expression on the human king’s face was comical as he seemed to realize that it meant her _other half_ was not an elf.

“Your mate is an orc?” He asked, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep the disgust from his voice. “But Warsong Hold was put under Varok Saurfang’s command when Garrosh Hellscream returned to Orgrimmar, was it not…?”

“Yes, it was.” She nodded. The outward revulsion seemed to vanish, only surprise remaining.

“Saurfang is a rare example of honor and valor amongst his kind.” To her astonishment, what appeared to be an air of respect settled over Varian and he gave a nod. “I am sorry for the loss of his son. I heard much about his cooperation with our own troops, and how he shared his father’s ideals.”

“Thank you.” She said quietly, looking down for a moment. “It will bring Varok some solace to hear that even the Alliance knew of Dranosh’s greatness. Had he lived to become Warchief instead of that current monster, he would have found a way to maintain peace, I have no doubt.” There was a moment of heavy, uncomfortable silence until she cleared her throat. “So. That’s where I’ll be.”

“I have a question.” Mathias Shaw said, breaking the tension. She looked at him, waiting. “You are right that we have identified a couple of your operatives, I’m wondering if it is due to the quality of your spies or if they revealed themselves intentionally.” He was prodding her good-naturedly and she grinned, knowing she didn’t have to reply.

“You only saw them because they wanted you to.” Sirno remarked from the corner no one had noticed her in. Everyone but Gylledra started and turned toward her, looking mildly horrified. Varian bared his teeth at her, his loathing for orcs plain on his face. Mathias gave Gylledra a level look and she smirked with a shrug.

 

* * *

 

 

“You wanted to speak with me?” Rell asked, coming around the end of a bookshelf as Gylledra casually perused the currently unoccupied library.

“You _are_ a good spy, I didn’t even have to use my words.” She replied, smiling a little as he drew nearer. “I had fully expected that you’d divulged all my secrets to Shaw and the King.”

“I only relay what I believe could impact the Alliance negatively.” His golden eyes were fixed on her.

“It is a pity you belong to SI:7, you’d have been a fine member of my Nameless.” Gylledra had always liked Rell, even from the first moment she met him in Orgrimmar, all those years before, there was something about him.

“Your cause is one worthy of loyalty, but as I already swore one oath, I must stand by it.” He told her. “You do not seem the sort to welcome oath-breakers to your fold.”

“I can respect that, oaths _are_ important. I suppose then I will offer my friendship and be satisfied with that.” She looked up at him as he seemed to draw nearer.

“It is a pity that is all you have to offer.” His voice was quiet and Gylledra realized then that he _liked_ her. Somehow, the possibility of anyone ever taking such interest in her besides Varok had never occurred to her. She’d never given thought to the attention of anyone else. She scrambled for words, for some reply, a quip, _anything_ but her mouth worked soundlessly. “What a moment this is, you are so rarely speechless.” A grin spread across his face. “Why are you so surprised?”

“Rell…I…” It was becoming embarrassing as words continued to fail her. He’d managed with just one comment to tear down the defenses she always carefully stayed behind, leaving her feeling somewhat exposed, with control wrested from her grip.

“You are not yet reunited with your mate?” He asked suddenly, throwing her even farther off balance. Why was he suddenly so bold? What the hell did Sirno do to him?

“No, I…well, not…but…” She spluttered and then Rell took her face between his hands and kissed her. Her shock was such that she didn’t resist, her body reciprocating of its own accord. She’d forgotten what it was like to kiss someone without tusks. _No risk of impalement kissing an elf…_ she thought distantly. He tasted her, holding her against him.

When he pulled back, Gylledra was warm and a little breathless. She blamed the unwanted arousal on her physical deprivation as she worked to return to her rational self.

“You…you did not ask if you could do that.” She said finally, her ability to speak once again in working order.

“You’d have said no.”

“Precisely.” She stepped back and he smiled, perhaps a little sadly.

“I would ask forgiveness but I do not want it. Until our paths cross again. Enjoy Northrend, friend.” Rell gave her shoulder a squeeze and left her staring after him still somewhat shocked and confused.

“Wow. He didn’t even kiss _me_.” Sirno said from where she was leaning in the doorway. Gylledra cleared her throat and straightened her jacket a bit.

“Were you even face to face?” She asked.

“Good point.” Sirno grinned. “I don’t really care to be face to face with males.”

“Yes, well, this goes with you to your grave.”

“I’m offended you think you even have to say that!” Her laughter echoed through the library.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Nasorya asked. Ever since everything that had happened with Varok had happened, she’d become a strange, over-protective mother hen-dragon. Gylledra rolled her eyes inwardly and let out a long breath, nodding.

“Yes, for the nine-hundredth time.”

“It seems very quick, don’t you think? Just going back to him…not taking more time…” Nasorya prodded gently…again.

“No, Nasorya, quick would have been if I’d mounted him right in Baine’s lodge while you all waited outside.” Gylledra sighed. They were waiting in Dalaran, having rented the same room in the inn that the Nameless had used as an interim sort of headquarters as they battled the Lich King’s forces. Pava and Reggie were due to arrive at any time so they could discuss the plan for Gylledra’s absence. She wasn’t going to be _totally_ absent, she simply wasn’t going to be going from place to place to check in on things as she usually did.

The door opened and in stepped a heavily pregnant and unhappy looking Pava followed closely by Reggie and Rook Coldrock.

“Well…that complicates things.” Gylledra murmured.

“Aye, that’s why _I’ve_ come.” Rook replied.

“You never said anything!” Gylledra went on and Pava gave a small smile, but winced. She looked ready to go at any time.

“If you’d known, you’d have told me to stay behind, and I don’t stay behind.” Pava replied.

“Yes. It’s definitely better to travel while about to drop and being a nightmare.” Reggie muttered sullenly. Through his displeasure at his unhappy and uncomfortable mate Gylledra could see a proud father-to-be.

“I’ve been with them five minutes and already I want to get out.” Rook snorted.

“Well, in the interest of comfort, I will get right to the point. I will be stationed at Warsong Hold for the foreseeable immediate future, I anticipate things to work similarly to the last time I was there except perhaps with rules a bit more lax, considering that Hellscream and his giant ego and increasingly racist attitude aren’t present there anymore.” Gylledra explained. “I will be dispatching notices to all lieutenants in all the divisions. I will make note that matters of escalation should go first to Rook before they come to me. I will still manage reports and my daily work as usual, not much will change.”

“Then what is this all for?” Rook asked, frowning slightly.

“I would like some time to myself, a couple weeks at the very least unless it is a dire emergency. My own family has been fractured and needs mending. I have worked hard over the years to put back together the lives of others and now must look to my own.”

“It’s about time.” Pava blurted. “Everything has been for everyone else. You need to take a step back, for your own sake.”

“Yes, well…it’s taken tragedy and heartbreak to recognize that, so there is no time like the present. Nasorya and Sirno will come along, mostly because its nigh unto impossible to stop them.” She grinned as Nasorya shot her a dirty look. “It will be an entire three days before they’re bored I’m sure and I will actually have peace.”

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang dragged his eyes over the bland, eventless reports as he did every day. Nothing ever happened, it was Northrend…the war was over, it was cold, and no one even wanted the territory. The most action they saw was wildlife picking off _other_ wildlife. The indigenous populations of the continent left each other alone for the most part and whatever minor squabbles they had didn’t matter enough to pay attention to anyway.

He looked at the disappointingly lackluster stone on the message box. Gylledra hadn’t written in over a week and he was growing concerned. At the sound of familiar footsteps coming up the corridor, Saurfang let out a long breath, rolling his eyes for the benefit of no one. He wished he’d remembered to close the office door. Kryna entered, as she usually did, but instead of her usual cloying smile, she wore a slight grimace.

“What is it?” He asked, giving her a sidelong look.

“There are… _travelers_ here.” She told him.

“What _sort_ of travelers?” He turned to look at her straight on then.

“Travelers that don’t belong. One is a _night elf_!” The young Mag’har looked aghast. “I cannot imagine the gall to waltz into a Horde stronghold and demand to see the High Overlord!”

“You might not have noticed, there are but a scant few of us here. If the visitors were going to cause trouble, I imagine they would have no difficulty doing so.” He replied, giving her a level look. He halted then, halfway to getting to his feet. A night elf? “Who else is with her?”

“How do you know it’s a _her?_ ” Kryna scoffed indignantly.

“Kryna…” He growled, _not_ in the mood for whatever her problem was.

“Some odd looking one with horns and that orc spy from a couple months ago.” She finally told him, not looking too pleased about it. Saurfang barely kept the grin off his face, surging upward.

“I will see to them.” He breezed out of the office without a backward glance.

 

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Kryna Stonebreak had _never_ seen the High Overlord’s eyes light up quite like that, but he’d been somewhat different in general since returning from his unauthorized journey to Thunder Bluff. Somehow, he’d come back with the heavy burdens he bore having somehow been lightened. Her assignment to Warsong Hold had gone into effect nearly as soon as most of the Horde had been recalled to Orgrimmar. Since she’d learned of his absentee mate, Saurfang had been decidedly less warm toward her. They’d been close, she had thought, thinking herself becoming perhaps important in his life. The long nights by the fire…

She clenched her teeth, following him out of the office, heading for the war room where his _guests_ awaited. The idea that he was consorting with members of the Alliance was shocking and confusing. And just _what_ was an orc spy doing with them?! She hurried, reaching the room on Saurfang’s heels to find only the elf standing there, waiting.

“There were _two_ others here!” She blurted and both Saurfang and the elf looked at her, neither too pleased with her.

“Perhaps then, you ought to go find them and make sure they’re not causing trouble.” He rumbled, arching one brow. The amusement on the elf’s face at the scolding sent anger coursing through her.

“What? Search the entire hold?” Kryna blinked.

“You. Are. Dismissed.” He said more firmly and though she opened her mouth to retort, the look in his eye stopped her. With a huff, she turned and left, but paused just out of sight, listening, despite knowing she should not.

“Surprise.” The elf told him.

“Yes, yes it is. I can’t believe your chaperones left you alone with me.” Saurfang chuckled.

“I pulled rank.”

“Ah, I see. I was growing concerned when I had not heard from you in so long.” He went on. Kryna couldn’t resist and silently crept toward the edge of the wall. Obscured in the darkness of the hallway, she looked around the edge and saw the High Overlord and the elf standing quite close together. She didn’t look like other night elves Kryna had seen, her hair was dark and her skin lacked the usual purple hue most of them had. Unexpected though, was the stance and build of a warrior that she had, obvious, graceful strength in the way she moved, but there was some sort of magic about her as well. Typically, the night elves abhorred magic, so that was also strange.

“I was in Dalaran making preparations for my…hiatus.” The elf explained.

“Your hiatus?” Saurfang frowned as she smiled up at him. His brows arched high, coming to understand something Kryna still had not. It was a strangely cryptic conversation and she didn’t like the way the elf looked at him. The warmth and admiration in her shining green eyes were too familiar…it was…it was the way _Kryna_ had looked on him all these months!

He’d said he had a mate, a devastating revelation in and of itself, it did not make sense that he would take up with an _elf_ on the side. The thought sent her mind reeling, why an elf when there was a perfectly good, willing orc _right here?!_ Were he and the mate estranged? Was that why he’d spent so much time with her initially when the war against the Lich King had been won? The thought made her feel sick. What sort of mate would abandon a warrior like Saurfang? Who could possibly turn their back on one such as him?

Her suspicions seemed confirmed, however, as Saurfang took the elf into his arms, pressing his forehead to hers. The knot in Kryna’s gut twisted sharply, this made no sense, nothing added up! What in all the hells _was_ this?! Saurfang, who harped endlessly on the importance of honor, of what it meant to uphold it and promote it…it was everything to him! How could he…

“We cannot be apart again, Varok.” The elf whispered.

“I do not intend to be.” He kissed her, and Kryna had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. A realization struck her like a swinging axe…it was not in Saurfang to betray a mate, this elf…this unwelcome _Alliance_ entity…she _was_ his mate. Why else would his mate’s spy be with her? She should not be watching this, but she couldn’t look away as all the things she had imagined were stripped away.

Suddenly, Kryna was yanked backward into the darkness, cloth jammed in her mouth so she couldn’t make a sound. She thrashed but finally was thrown into a small room where she pulled the cloth out of her mouth and found herself face to face with the two women who had accompanied the elf.

“What do you think you’re doing you brown-nosing little gash?” The spy hissed at her, a very sharp blade pointed to Kryna’s throat.

“Wow, that’s harsh even for you, Sirno.” The horned one looked a little shocked.

“That’s because I’m not a fool and this one cannot be trusted. She serves High Overlord Saurfang to achieve her own ends, not for loyalty or love of the Horde.” The vicious orc went on.

“How dare you accuse me of disloyalty!” Kryna spat and barely saw the spy’s right hook coming, the back of her head bouncing against the stone wall at her back. Lights danced in front of her eyes and she tasted blood. She was yanked by the ankles to lay flat on the floor, Sirno the Spy crouched above her.

“Look, you’re cute, so I won’t kill you.” Her voice was suddenly softer, warmer somehow and the inexplicable transition made Kryna’s head hurt. “But you’d better get out of your mind any _ideas_ you might have had.” Sirno grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look her in the eye. “Believe me, little one, when I say that whatever I might do to you…in whatever capacity…it will be much better than what Gylledra might do if she finds you sneaking about with your _intentions_.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sirno, are you trying to scare her or pick her up?” The horned one scoffed.

“I can’t make up my mind.” A sly, but unreadable smile curled on the orc’s lips then she stood up. “Remember what I said, though.” They turned and left the supply closet, closing the door behind them.


	12. Chapter 12

Gylledra’s grasp on her self-control had been tenuous at best and slipped further with Varok’s lips on hers; his kiss was as thorough and distracting as she knew it would be. It had been more than a year since the last time they’d shared such an embrace. The sudden crash and slamming door startled her though and she pulled back, looking in the direction of the noise, giving a slightly perturbed sigh.

“I hope Sirno and Nasorya don’t kill that guard.” She murmured, looking around his massive arm toward the dark corridor. “They get it in their heads sometimes that some individuals are too…disrespectful.” Varok gave a snort and shook his head.

“A scare will do her some good. But, at the risk of sounding as though my intentions are impure, I would like to go somewhere more private to talk.” He told her. Gylledra cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Do you think either one of us focused enough to hold a mature conversation of import, depth, and meaningfulness right now?” She retorted with a downward glance at his groin and he cleared his throat.

“I intend to give it my best effort.” He took her hand.

“Mmhm.” She wasn’t convinced, but as they walked silently through the hold, hand in hand, the smirk gradually faded from her lips as she felt strangely nervous for no discernable reason. She had been with Varok for _years_ , what was there to be concerned about?

The door to what had been their quarters shut with a quiet finality and the burning inside her aside, they _were_ in need of some discussion and simple togetherness above all things in those moments.

“I meant what I said, Gylledra, I didn’t bring you up here to…”

“Yes, I know.” She cut him off, a shy smile on her face. “I was giving you shit.” Letting out a long breath, she sat on the edge of the bed.

“There is something I must tell you.” He didn’t sit beside her, and an unpleasant tendril of apprehension suddenly wound itself through her chest.

“What?” She asked, exerting every effort to appear as though her mind wasn’t at that moment racing through every terrible possibility in an effort to prepare itself. It halted on that guard who had been downstairs though. What was it about that orc? Sirno, not known for her manners anyway, had outright hissed when she had approached them as they drew near to the Hold.

Varok went to the chest of drawers in the corner, opening the one at the top and pulled something out. It was fabric…quickly she tried to think of any reason he could be showing her whatever this was until it came to screeching halt as he put her own night shirt in her hands. She stared at it, the cloth between her fingers, feeling every thread somehow. It grounded her and pulled her out of her speculations and fears.

“What?” She said again. “Did…did you take this when we were in Thunder Bluff? Do you thieve underthings now?” Confusion washed over her, and she looked up at him. He was working his jaw ever so slightly, the way he always had when he was worrying about telling her something.

“You left it here…”

“I left _nothing_ here…” She’d made certain when she departed after that awful day to leave not so much as a scrap of evidence that she had ever been there.

“The night you executed the Nameless traitors.” He finally said and Gylledra blinked, the confusion still firmly in place.

“What?” She repeated a third time.

“You came here, to me…in the night…” He took a very deep breath and let it out slowly. “I thought it was only a dream at first, until in the morning I found that on the floor and…” He stopped when her eyes suddenly grew large and round as the pieces clicked into place. She exhaled a Shalassian expletive, staring at him. The Dream…oh she recalled _that_ dream _very_ well, it had been so vivid, so real…she had thought back on it often in the dark when she was alone, remembering.

“It…we…” She stammered.

“You woke me, we spoke briefly before we were…together.” He looked less worried now and amidst her shock, she wondered why he had been afraid to tell her that. How could she be angry? _She_ was the one who came here and…

“ _Together_ is certainly putting it mildly.” She replied, shifting a little as the memories danced in her mind and she gaped suddenly. “I let you do things that night that I…” She could only shake her head and one of his brows arched high, a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth.

“That was what convinced me it was a dream.” Varok chuckled and Gylledra’s cheeks suddenly burned hot, though she didn’t know why, but her insides clenched in a way that was not unpleasant. Debauchery would have been the word she used to describe _that_ night, though also it had been thrilling. She cleared her throat.

“Well, then.” It was difficult to keep from squirming. How she had no recollection of porting to and from him was a mystery.

“When I found your shirt, I feared you also believed it was not real, and that if you learned it was, you would think less of me for partaking…”

“Varok, we were both willing participates, I know you and the boundaries you adhere to in regard to such things.” She turned to him, her shoulder and hip coming into contact with him as she did so, and it was like fire, even for so small a contact. A small tremor coursed through her and she got to her feet, going to the window that overlooked the familiar drab landscape that was the Borean Tundra.

“I love you, Gylledra.” He told her from where he sat on the bed. She had not said it or written it even since they’d been reunited in Mulgore. She’d never been afraid of a word before, but it was a word that had caused her in so short a time more strife than she had known in eleven thousand years. When she turned, Varok had risen and was halfway between her and the bed. She looked at him, his amber eyes searching her as she moved closer.

“I love you.” She whispered. “I always have, and I will never cease.” He reached out, touching her cheek lightly and she drew in a sharp breath but didn’t stop him. She stood still as his finger traced down her cheek and neck.

“I have missed having you here, being able to talk with you and get your counsel. I have missed you sleeping at my side each night, your presence calming and reassuring. And I have missed your touch, even just your hand on mine.” He told her. Gylledra took his hand in both of hers.

“I will not be driven off again. I’ve grown much wiser in a year.” She told him, releasing his hand and stepping closer. Varok leaned down to kiss her but she pulled back just enough to keep his lips from touching hers. “I want to look at you.” She whispered, leaning close to his ear. “I haven’t _seen_ you in a very long time.” She took his earlobe between her teeth and he let out a shuddering breath before stepping back from her.

“If this old body is what you desire.” The only armor he wore was his boots and belt over leather leggings. He had his vest and tabard of course, the usual leather wrapping on his elbows and the simple metal bracers, which he started with, unfastening the buckles and straps. He set them aside then loosened the belt and waist piece which he put down on the floor. The tabard of course he folded neatly and set on the dresser before unlacing the leather vest.

How long had it been since she had stopped to truly gaze at him. The fire roared currently, keeping the room warm but before they’d usually scurried beneath covers to keep the chill off. He peeled off the vest and Gylledra could only stare, remembering the first time she had seen his bare chest. It felt like a lifetime ago. Slowly he unwound the long strips from his elbows and she could hardly contain herself. Varok’s _old body_ was magnificent, every muscle, every vein, every scar, every hair, every inch.

He looked up when she tossed her jacket down, furiously unfastening her own vest, but he merely smiled and continued, sitting on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. When he stood again, her eyes lingered on his waist, the border between the flat, muscled plane of his abdomen and…the rest of him. Her breath came faster as his fingers pulled at the ties of his fly. Absentmindedly, she kicked off her own boots and tugged off her stockings. She was down to her half unbuttoned shirt and unlaced trousers by the time Varok pushed down his own.

He was already standing at attention and ready to go, though that was no surprise. His virility had never been an issue. Gylledra’s gaze traveled upward again, meeting his eyes as she finished unbuttoning her shirt. She let it slide down her shoulders before her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her leggings, giving them a push down her hips. Slowly, she bent, sliding them off and stepping out. Varok’s stare was burning into her and she moved closer again. He reached for her, his fingers trailing up her bare skin. As always, he was almost hot to the touch as her hands rested against his firm stomach. The room was silent except for the crackling fire and the sound of their breath.

“Sit down.” She whispered, gently pushing him backward, and he complied, but took her by the waist, pulling her close to kiss her neck and breasts. He groaned as she let him, her fingers in his hair as the liquid fire pooled at her center. After a moment she took a small step back, sinking to her knees as he gaped at her. Varok’s eyes were dark, his lips parted as his chest rose and fell, watching her. Gylledra slid her hands up the inside of his thighs, pressing them farther apart. “Show me.” He knew what she wanted and complied, taking himself in hand.

She watched as his hand moved, his breath coming faster until a glistening drop appeared at the tip and she stopped him. Varok let go as she took over and leaned forward, her tongue carefully massaging the softer parts of him so he let out a string of orcish expletives, the blankets gripped in his fists.

“It’s been too long, Gylledra, this will undo me in less than a minute…” He complained in a groan.

“I know.” Her breath was hot against his flesh and she left a wet trail up the underside with her tongue, then let her mouth hover over the tip, looking up into his eyes. Finally, she wrapped her lips around him and Varok gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily upward and she could feel him get harder and swell just a little bit more. Using her hands in tandem with her lips and tongue, she moved up and down the length of him, his eyes rolling up. As he leaned back onto his elbows, his legs were trembling with effort to hold off, but she made it impossible, her tongue stroking and swirling against his rigid flesh. Varok thrust up again, one hand taking a fistful of her hair as he pushed down, pressing himself deeper as a cry tore from his throat and Gylledra felt each pulse of his release.

“There.” She wiped at her mouth. “Now we can take our time.” He wasn’t sated yet and the dangerous glimmer of need in his eyes held promise that whatever her desires, he would satisfy her.

“Are you sure that was wise?” He pulled her up by the wrists then took her by the waist lifting her to straddle him. She angled her hips and with one movement he was buried inside her. She let out a shuddering breath, clutching him, her mouth close to his. “It will take much longer now.”

“That was the idea…” She whispered and he kissed her hard before she could say more. Varok stood without withdrawing and put Gylledra on her back, driving forward roughly and she cried out. He slowed to a steady rhythm, watching her bow and arch beneath him.

Together like this was when every other concern, every war, every problem, and every other thought vanished and all that mattered was the two of them in each other’s arms. Life had been dull and colorless until now when they had each other once again.

Gylledra’s body burned but she felt whole…and full, almost too full as she got accustomed to him again. Varok put an arm beneath her head and she watched his eyes while he stared into her. Eleven thousand years of existence didn’t add up to that moment and she knew that this was how it was meant to be with them, that whatever the tragedy, they still were connected.

Her voice rose as the world around them seemed to shatter and he moved hard, pushing her pleasure higher, drawing it out until she could scarcely breathe.

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang’s office was very neat and organized, but it wasn’t as though he had much to keep track of with Northrend being all but abandoned by Horde and Alliance forces. Nasorya went through his drawers while Sirno sat in his chair reading what obviously was his private journal. The floor seemed to vibrate a little and they both paused just before the entire keep shook as though being hit with cannon fire.

“Called it.” Sirno smirked. “Pay up, Nas.” She held out her hand without looking away from the journal and Nasorya rolled her eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken that bet; she can’t be trusted with him.” She muttered, pulling five gold out of her coin purse and slapping it into the smug orc’s palm.

“I won’t lie, I expected an echoing scream coming from the halls or something, not for him to _literally_ rock her world. I wasn’t giving the old orc enough credit.” Sirno chuckled.

“I can’t even tell you how jealous I am of that…” Nas stopped and let out a huff.

“ _I’ll_ rock your world.” Sirno arched a brow at her.

“I told you, _no_.” She pointed a finger to punctuate the point before resuming her invasion of Saurfang’s privacy.

“So, how long do you think it will be before they come up for air?” Sirno asked after a moment, closing the journal.

“A few days probably.” Nasorya scoffed.

“Wanna bet?” Sirno grinned and ducked as an inkwell was lobbed at her head.

* * *

.

* * *

 

 

Gylledra lay stretched out on her stomach on top of the covers, her head resting on her folded arms. Her eyes were closed, and her body felt warm and…well loved. There was nothing in that moment she could have wanted for. Varok’s fingers trailed from the nape of her neck to the backs of her thighs and back again as he was close beside her.

“How long are you staying?” His deep voice thrummed though her.

“I suppose until there is some catastrophe that absolutely requires my presence.” She murmured, feeling close to drifting off to sleep.

“Really?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes, really. Did you think I was going to come here for a few days to slake my lust with your body and then go off again?” Gylledra gave a small laugh.

“I wasn’t going to get my hopes up.” He replied. The bed moved as he shifted around a bit then she felt his lips against her skin between her shoulders. “But I am very glad you want to stay.”

“I will not be so easily gotten rid of again.”

“Good. And I will make it that much more difficult for you to go.” He shifted again and suddenly stuck something small and square into her hand. Her brow furrowed a little as she closed her fingers around it.

“What…?” With a quiet groan she pushed herself up to turn over toward him and looked at the object. It was a very battered little wooden box and judging by the expectant look on Varok’s face, he wanted her to open it. She flicked open the tarnished latch and the hinge begrudgingly moved as she opened it up. Inside, on dark blue satin was a ring…a stunning ring with a diamond in the center and accents of emeralds, sapphires, and amethysts. She stared at it for a long moment. “It’s beautiful…” She whispered.

“I should have given it to you a long time ago, as I’d intended.” He told her.

“Were you concerned I wouldn’t like it? It’s lovely…” She’d always loved every gift he’d given her during their time together, she’d never stopped wearing the jewelry he’d given her at the original celebration in Orgrimmar.

“I did some research, as I know little about such customs among non-orcs. There were no other Nightborne to ask, so I inquired with various individuals from various races…” He explained, looking a little bashful and finally, what was happening clicked and Gylledra’s jaw dropped open.

“You’re…this is…” She looked down at the ring again, glittering in the warm candle light.

“I was remiss in letting it fall to the wayside, I have considered you my mate since the first time we were together and in truth that is all that is required amongst orcs, but there is a traditional ceremony that most choose to take part in.” Varok went on with his explanation and Gylledra was still working on regaining her ability to speak words into sentences.

“You want to marry me.” She finally breathed.

“I always have.” He gave a small smile. “If you are willing to truly bind yourself to me after…”

“Of course I am…” She blinked. “I…” Words failed again and so instead she kissed him, putting her arms around her neck. How moved he was manifested physically, and she gasped when he pressed against her.

“Will you put it on?” He asked, pulling back. “I would do it except that it is too tiny for me to hold.”

“Oh, yes, of course…” She took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger, admiring it before Varok took her hand and kissed it.

“I had thought to never have another mate.” He told her quietly, holding her hand in his. “And had someone told me I would _and_ that she would be an elf, I would have hit them with my axe.” He smiled and Gylledra watched his eyes, listening. “I thought I knew everything when I was young, we all do. We are all very foolish and some remain so even when they are old, if they live that long.” He was quiet for a moment. “I loved my mate, of course, in the way I knew how as a young, intemperate orc. She gave me a son and that made me proud. But I never knew that things could be like _this_ , the way they are between me and you.”

“Is it so different? With us?” She asked him.

“Yes.” It was a simple answer, truthfully it was the one she hoped for. In the darker parts of her mind she had foolishly made comparisons. Such insecurities had long been put to rest as she knew what he knew. “You and I have shared everything, even darkness. We have gone to _war_ together, and I can think of no other warrior I would rather have at my back. The pain that pulls me apart is bearable because you share it, you _know_ it. You do not feed me honeyed words even when it frustrates me, you have never betrayed me…because of you, living is no longer a curse.” He took a deep breath, looking away but she saw the glassiness of his eyes. Gylledra wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly and squeezing her own eye shut against the prickling feeling there. She felt as he did, but she did not know how to say it. “I cannot go on with you, my love. I will not.”

“You do not have to.” She whispered, Varok’s arms tight around her.

 

* * *

 

 

Gylledra felt like she had spent the previous day in battle, her muscles ached, and her bones creaked as she rolled over the next morning. The large space beside her was vacant and cool and she opened her eyes, finding a piece of parchment on Varok’s pillow. Snatching it up, she read it.

_Early to bed_

_Early to rise_

_Something, something_

_Between your thighs_

_-I’ve still got responsibilities whether there is a naked elf in my bed or not. Perhaps you should check in with the Chaos Twins, left to their own devices this hold will be rubble by the end of the week. I love you._

 

She grinned, folding up the note to add to her collection of others containing the short, silly Dorf Poems, as she’d come to call them, that Varok often included in his letters. She made a small gesture and the rugged, worn old trunk she kept all her personal belongings in appeared. After a quick bath, she pulled on a simple tunic and leggings, with a belt around her middle then donned stockings and her boots. Indeed, she was going to find out what Nasorya and Sirno were up to. It would have only been worse had Pava been around to passively egg them on while feigning maturity and responsibility when she was just as bad as they were.

They were in the large map room, playing some strange version of chess on the map of Northrend that was inlaid on the floor. They moved the pieces about with their feet. Sirno elbowed Nasorya as Gylledra walked in, smiling and shaking her head.

“Ha! I won _this_ bet!” Nasorya declared, giving Sirno a shove. “Give me back my gold!”

“Good morning to you, too.” Gylledra chuckled.

“Wow, you can walk.” Sirno commented. “On his way out this morning, Saurfang was _whistling_.”

“Is that so?” She bit her lower lip. “Were the two of you set up with quarters?”

“Yes, they weren’t terrible. This place is _sparse_ though.” The orc replied.

“I suspect things will be fairly busier soon enough.”

“Oh, did you tell him your plans?” Nasorya asked. “Or rather…your ideas for plans…”

“Not yet.” Gylledra shook her head and was suddenly yanked as Nasorya grabbed her arm, holding up her hand.

“Finally!” She huffed, releasing Gylledra’s arm as she snatched back her hand.

“Stop it.” She scolded, though not terribly bothered. “What have you been doing since yesterday? Wait…let me guess…you’ve opened every drawer and cupboard you could find unlocked, including ones you shouldn’t, and then terrorized that young guard for reasons unbeknownst to me?”

“That about sums it up.” Sirno nodded.

“What _is_ the issue with her?” Gylledra asked then frowned as Sirno and Nasorya exchanged a look. “Tell me.” She couldn’t fathom what about one young orc could get their dander up as they drew in close.

“Well, let’s just say she fancied herself to be of a particular importance…and envisioned ah…taking up a certain position.” Sirno explained…vaguely.

“You mean spread eagle?” Nasorya offered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gylledra rolled her eyes.

“She’s been trying to cozy up to Saurfang for the last year thinking he might want a fresh young mate.” Sirno finally told her.

“That’s ridiculous…”

“No, it’s true. To be fair, from some of those whom I extorted information from, it seems she was unaware of your existence and it wasn’t until I came up here to give him your gift that the truth came out.”

“And you’re tormenting her for that?” Gylledra sighed. Just then, Varok entered and all three of them look up with varying degrees of scowls or consternation on their faces. He was smiling, but froze, sensing a possibly dangerous situation. He looked ready to start backing slowly away.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing. Nasorya and Sirno have their duties to return to shortly.” Gylledra told him and he raised a still-suspicious brow.

“Really?” Nasorya pouted.

“Yes, really. Pava is about to give birth, Rook will require your aid and support and I expect her to be obeyed as you would obey me. You both have your orders.” She replied.

“Yes, general.” Sirno gave a salute, but there was no sarcasm in it, she knew when she’d been dismissed, and she’d sworn to follow orders regardless of their friendship.

“This should get you where you need to go.” Gylledra formed a portal stone and handed it to Nasorya. “I appreciate you accompanying me here. I’ll send word when I need you back. I cannot suppose it will be very long.” Nasorya suddenly gripped her in a rib-crushing hug.

“I’m so happy for you.” She whispered, smiling, before she departed with Sirno.

 

“What was that all about?” Varok asked, coming toward her once they were gone.

“That young Mag’har orc, apparently, and her…affinity for you.” She smirked as his lip curled and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, she is…” He sighed. “…very trying.”

“Does it not make you feel important and strong that one so young and pretty was drawn to you and wanted you?” She teased, tugging on his harness.

“I have never cared for such attention, she is not the first.” Varok scoffed.

“Oh?” She grinned. “How many?”

“Too many.” He took her by the waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Before the portal and after, during the wars…some sought a mate, some sought comfort, some sought pleasure, but I wasn’t interested.”

“Never?” She couldn’t deny feeling a tiny bit skeptical.

“I did not feel desire or the urge to seek physical comfort and pleasure until I saw you standing by that river. After that, to my frustration, I could think of almost nothing else.” He pulled her a little closer. “When the Horde was pulled from Northrend and I was left here with my skeleton crew, Kryna was assigned here, I think they thought her too inexperienced, or too belligerent and headstrong for the ranks in Orgrimmar.”

“She does seem to have a strange way about her, she behaves familiarly.” Gylledra replied.

“Too much so, and I did not cull it when I ought to have. I was grieving for Dranosh and for you and she said she had grown up with him in Garadar. I wanted to know more about him, his life, everything…and so I spoke with her often, so I think it is my fault she got the wrong idea.”

“Did you say affectionate things to her?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, did you ever touch her or hold her?” The sudden look of horror that flashed on his face as she asked was answer enough and she smiled.

“Never.”

“Then it isn’t your fault, her ideas and thoughts are her own.” She kissed him.

“You’re right, of course.” He stroked her hair. “I must finish my rounds, I will be back in a couple of hours.” His lips met hers in a deep, lingering kiss that made her long for more.

“I look forward to it.” She grinned. “Besides, there is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

He gave a nod and as Varok left the keep, she stared after him, admiring his form, and the way he moved. There was much still to mend between them, and it would come with time. They both had their own wounds which would never heal, but the hurts of their relationship could be made right again. There would be more war, she knew it in her heart; the rift between the Horde and the Alliance grew with each day. The peace they had here in Northrend would only last so long.

“Why did you come here?” Kryna asked from behind Gylledra.

“To be with my mate.” She kept her voice even.

“I cannot fathom how such a thing ever came to be.”

“Such things are none of your concern, but you may ask any orc who fought in the third war if you absolutely must know.” She smiled politely at the young orc. “That aside, soldier, it would seem you must learn your place. There may be only a few of you here in the North, but that does not imply a relaxing of respect or rank.”

“You are in no position to tell me anything…” Kryna started, her face twisting with anger.

“STONEBREAK!” Another orc, higher ranking than her, entered the room, fury in his eyes. “Away from your post _again?_ ” He growled. Gylledra recognized him as Kordrus Mark.

“I…”

“Silence!” He stormed forward, looking down at the much younger orc who at least had the decency to take a step back and lower her head. “Have you no honor or self-respect? How dare you speak to your betters in such a way?” This time she said nothing, her jaw clenching in anger. “Get back to your post, you will be dealt with later! DISMISSED!” Kryna turned and stormed from the room and Gylledra let out a long breath.

“Seems like a handful.” She murmured.

“Hmph.” He scoffed.

“It’s good to see you, Kordrus, how did you get stuck here in the frozen north?”

“It is good to see you back, too, Lady Saurfang.” He smirked. “I did not wish to leave my Lord Saurfang. He needs reliable warriors, even if there are not many.”

“I’m glad you’re here, then.”

“And we are glad of your return as well, for his spirits are much lifted.”


	13. Chapter 13

Gylledra had allowed herself to go on in a ridiculous state of single-minded, elated infatuation for the better part of three weeks. Focusing on the backlog of reports was not proving to be especially easy while her mind lingered elsewhere, but it needed to be done. She’d never in her life given herself the time to simply exist for pleasure and contentment before, and as it turned out, it was extremely enjoyable and would haunt and tempt her at every turn. She suspected that Varok felt similarly, though she knew herself and him well enough to be aware that an extended period of ignorant bliss would grow tiresome for them both. They were warriors, after all, they needed things to do.

During those days, Varok had casually reminded her periodically about plans for a ceremony but she hadn’t the faintest idea of where to start in that regard. Wisely, she’d written to a number of her female friends who’d gone through some version of a pair-bonding ceremony for their thoughts and advice. The flurry of excited responses did not help as Gylledra went from an entire lack of information to a massive overflow of it. The only thing she did know was that she didn’t much care for the idea of a sea of people present; large scale events had never been especially enticing.

 

The whole of Warsong Hold was in a state of chaos, despite the early hour, as preparations were made. Gylledra stood at her desk, looking over the most recent stack of reports. In lieu of planning the disaster herself, Gylledra had invited a handful of trusted others to do it for her. In charge of said others was Pava, her newborn son strapped to her chest as she took command. The child was maybe two weeks old considering she’d been unable to leave Dalaran after their meeting and gave birth there.

Quickly, she scribbled out instructions for her operatives in Orgrimmar, she’d extracted all but the orcs, considering the intensifying unwelcomeness other races were experiencing.

“GYLLEDRA!” Pava barked from the doorway, startling her so that there was now a smudged line across the entire dispatch and several splatters of ink.

“Damn it, Pava…” She sighed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt your _work_ while you’re supposed to be getting _dressed_ for…oh, I don’t know…your _WEDDING_?” The angry orc moved to cross her arms but finding her child in the way, settled for fists on hips instead.

“You’re significantly less terrifying with an infant attached to you.” Gylledra crossed her own arms mockingly.

“Try me, elf, I am sleep deprived. I will beat you with a club where the bruises won’t show.” Pava pointed to the open doorway. “Let’s go.”

“I love how motherly you’ve become, you have this… _glow_ about you.” Gylledra continued taunting as she scooted past Pava, quickly moving out of swatting range. “You’re so warm and sweet now, I can’t believe that you…” She dodged a candlestick that came hurling in her direction and cackled, scurrying farther out of range. Thinking herself safe, she went on. “I’ll be sure to get you an apron…” A candle struck her solidly in the back of the head and Gylledra whirled around, reaching up to touch the point of impact, finding soft, cooling wax clumping already. “Oh, you’re in trouble now, Nasorya is going to kill you for getting wax in my hair.” Pava grabbed another candle from a wall sconce, aiming it menacingly until Gylledra finally disappeared into her rooms.

Inside, she was immediately yanked over to a chair and forced to sit where Nasorya was ready and waiting, brush in hand.

“What the hell…” She started then made a low, frustrated noise in her throat. “I’m sure you deserved it.”

“Maybe.” Gylledra folded her arms, hunching her shoulders a little till she received a swift _thwap!_ from the brush.

“Sit up straight, we’ve already wasted enough time!”

“Everyone is so mean, today. I don’t know _what_ the rush is.”

 

The more she sat and was unable to occupy her mind with tasks, the more butterflies seemed to take up residence in her innards. It didn’t make sense why she felt nervous, ultimately nothing would really change after the ceremony. They’d been together seven…ish years already, and then of course there was Malfurion and Tyrande, who had been together ten thousand years before _they_ got married. Orcs didn’t have that kind of time though.

Gylledra’s hair was done back with intricate braids then cascaded down her back in long, dark curls. She didn’t see any dress laid out, however, as she got to her feet, but before she could ask, the chamber door opened and her top two mages, Blood Elves, Malor Sunbind and his mate Syris Flaere, stepped in.

“Someone called for a dress?” Malor asked.

“One would probably be helpful.” Gylledra replied and quickly shed the simple tunic and trousers she wore. She was beginning to wonder just how many Nameless had come, the place seemed to be crawling with them.

“Stand here, please, General.” Syris instructed. “And put your arms out.”

“I am just Gylledra today.” She replied, but did as bidden.

Malor took her by one hand and Syris took the other. Long strands of arcane floated from them, wrapping around Gylledra, weaving together at first into a strange, shapeless draping sort of thing. It hugged her form, turning dark and suddenly, it was as though she was wrapped in the glittering, starry sky. Somehow, the garment made Gylledra’s arcane marking shimmer and glow brighter. The fabric moved as though it was liquid, smooth and flowing. It hung to the floor, pooling at her feet, a train behind her. The plunging bodice had no sleeves, but sparkling strands hung off her shoulders. A choker of diamonds…or starlight, materialized around her throat, one long strand dangling between her breasts.

“Wow.” Sirno let out a low whistle.

“I’ve never had anything so beautiful…” Gylledra murmured.

“We don’t know, of course, what is traditional for Nightborne, but since that is what your people are called, it seemed appropriate to make the night sky itself your wedding dress.” Syris explained, releasing her hand. Malor made a gesture toward her head, casting gossamer, glittering threads throughout her hair.

“It has been an honor to serve you, Gylledra.” He told her. “And a greater honor still to be able to give you this gift on so important a day.”

“I am so grateful to you both for this, I cannot even express how in awe of this beauty I am.” She replied, looked down at herself. “I fear I lack a mind for aesthetics and could never create something like this. Truly, it is art.” Both elves gave their salute before slipping back out the doors once more and Gylledra turned to Nasorya who hastily wiped at her eyes.

“I have never seen you look so…shiny.” She said, letting out a long breath as she grinned.

“I do think it’s the shiniest I’ve ever been.” Gylledra let her fingers trail over the fabric, swaying her hips experimentally and watching it ripple.

 

With Gylledra ready, everyone else had but finishing touches to do on their own ensembles and at one point, Reggie appeared to fetch his son from Pava who was almost fit to be tied from the squirming of her child.

“So, the plan is Nasorya will be down in the main hall waiting with those who have gathered…” Pava began to explain.

“Those who have gathered? _Who_ is here? This is supposed to be a handful of you, and us and…” Gylledra began fretting and Pava waved it aside, largely ignoring her protests.

“You and the High Overlord will meet at the top of the ramps and come down one side together. Sirno and I will precede you, Eitrigg and Baine…”

“Eitrigg and Baine?!” Gylledra gasped. She had no idea they would be coming!

“ _Focus_!” Pava snapped her fingers in her face. “Eitrigg and Baine will walk with us…then you follow. Once at the bottom, Nasorya will speak, you will each have the chance to say to one another what you wish to, and that’s that. Got it?”

“Yes.” Gylledra fidgeted, feeling as if the butterflies in her gut had turned into harpies.

“Good. Let’s go.” Pava smiled then, patting her shoulder. “Don’t look so scared.”

“I am not _scared!_ ”

 

At the end of the corridor, at the top of the ramps that led into the map room hall, Varok stood, his back to her, but Baine and Eitrigg both saw her, their mouths opening suddenly as they ceased speaking. At that, Varok turned, he was wearing his armor and it was freshly polished; all he lacked was the helm piece around his neck, which would not have been conducive to a wedding ceremony. He adopted the same dumbfounded expression as the other two and Gylledra felt heat creep into her cheeks. He reached out and she took his hand as he stared before finally blinking and smiling.

“I’m underdressed.” He told her a little hoarsely.

“Or am I overdressed?” She replied. The others lined up and began their descent down one of the ramps and she was alone with him. Varok pulled her close, suddenly, and kissed her.

“In a few minutes I will be your husband, and a luckier husband there will have never been in all the worlds.” He pulled back, taking her hand again as they prepared to make their way down.

“You look very nice.” She said quietly, still feeling weirdly shy.

“I have never seen in my life beauty such as yours today, Gylledra.” He led her down the ramp and as they turned the bend, they were met with a sea of faces. Every spot that could possibly be occupied was and Gylledra inhaled sharply. She’d _expected_ ten or twenty people…but an army had come. _Her_ army.

In the front row, she was shocked to see Tyrande, who appeared impassive, Malfurion, who was smiling up at the incoming pair, and beside them was Velen! More shocking still was when Anduin leaned forward to see around the towering Draenei and grinned at her. Slightly farther down stood Lor’themar Theron and Vol’jin. It was something of a shock to see the Horde and Alliance equally represented by some of their leaders, individuals who were sworn to be enemies standing together amidst an army of their people from both sides who had sworn to fight together for the good of all Azeroth. It was her hope that perhaps one day both sides could be in a room together like this for something other than a wedding.

“Who did all this?” Gylledra whispered.

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t consulted either.” Varok whispered back.

They reached the bottom and stood facing one another. It was then Gylledra noticed a couple of the gossamer threads from her hair had gotten stuck on Varok’s armor. She swatted at them, in what she hoped was a nonchalant way, but judging by the quiet titter that ran through those gathered, it had not gone unnoticed.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Nasorya murmured only loud enough so they could hear her, flashing a wicked grin before she cleared her throat to begin speaking. “I have never presided over a wedding before, but I am very old, and that seems to be the only requirement on Azeroth…so…here I am.” A low chuckle came from the gathering.

“Surely you are not _that_ old.” Varok arched a brow.

“I am older than your _world_ , orc.” Nasorya retorted. “Everyone here at the very least knows of Varok Saurfang and Gylledra Alenos, and the great lengths they have gone to together and separately for the good of this world and everyone in it.” Gylledra began wondering if perhaps it had been a bad idea for Nasorya to be the one to perform their ceremony. “I imagine, though, that very few of you know the long and sordid tale that ends with all of us standing here in this room regardless of faction or belief to witness a wedding.”

“It is not sordid!” Gylledra hissed.

“It’s a _little_ bit sordid.” Nasorya smirked, again to the delight of those present but was met with identical glares of disapproval from both Gylledra and Varok. “Fine, it’s not all that sordid.” She sighed theatrically. “Neither one of them will ever tell you themselves how this all came to be. It all started with a kidnapping and insufferable bickering. Anyone within earshot of them eventually was backing away, except me of course because I like to eavesdrop.”

“ _Nasorya_.” Gylledra said through her teeth.

“ _You_ asked me to do this, and so I am. Be patient, I’ll get to the good stuff in a minute.” She rolled her eyes a little. “All joking and embarrassing discussion of that time they drank way too much on a ship aside…my lady, who I have traveled with for a number of millennia, returned to Azeroth to save what was left of it, and what was left was a whole world full of people, and of all those people in all those places, she found one who saved her too.” An unexpected bubble of emotion rose in Gylledra and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Nasorya nodded to Varok who took both of Gylledra’s hands, his amber eyes on hers for a long moment as silence stretched out across everyone who were craning closer to hear. She could feel the slightest tremble in his hands.

“It was not until I knew you that I desired life.” He began. “In the wake of tragedy and war, all there was for me was the end. I had accepted a gray existence before you gave me something I never believed possible for myself. I never thought I could love as I love you, Gylledra. You know me as no other has ever known me, and for all my faults, you see good in me nevertheless. All these years you have been to me a mate, and it is a greater honor than I have words to describe that you wish to be my wife. I will endeavor until my dying breath to deserve you.” He squeezed her hands lightly, eyes glassy.

“For thousands of years…I was the same. However much I learned and experienced…still I remained as I was. You reached into my mind and the very essence of who I am…and I was changed forever.” She told him. “It happened much faster than I believed it could, my heart opened and I let you become part of me. I love you, Varok, and I will continue to do so until the day I die.”

“Varok Saurfang…” Nasorya looked serious. “Do you swear to honor and serve Gylledra, to support and love her as your mate for the rest of your life…lest I burn your green carcass to a crisp and consume you?” He smirked then, eyes not leaving Gylledra’s as strangled, stifled laughter rippled across the attendants.

“I do so swear it.”

“Gylledra Alenos, do you swear to honor and serve Varok, to support and love him as your mate for the rest of _your_ life?”

“What? No caveat?” Gylledra smirked and Nasorya shook her head, smiling. “I do so swear it.”

“Then…as your oaths are sworn and you are bound by heart and by honor to each other forever.” Nasorya declared. A wide grin spread across Gylledra’s face as Varok smiled down at her. “You should probably _kiss_ her!”

“I suppose I should.” He chuckled and did indeed, bending down and pressing his lips to Gylledra’s.

“Wuss.” Nasorya scoffed.

“What…?” Gylledra blinked and Varok arched a brow and pulled her against him, kissing her soundly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, throwing aside her reservations, and they were met with raucous cheering and whooping, her cheeks burning hot when he finally released her.

“Congratulations!” Anduin cried through the clapping. Gylledra, still grinning, stepped back from Varok, turning to address their guests and the noise quickly died down.

“We did not expect quite so many guests, but…” Words failed her, but Varok stepped up.

“It is an honor that you all came and astounding further that your presence has rendered Gylledra speechless, for her verbosity is outstripped only by Nasorya.” His voice carried well through the stone hall and the guests chuckled, most of them knowing well Nasorya’s penchant for chatter. “We are most grateful.”

 

Tyrande and Malfurion were received first, Malfurion hugged Gylledra and shook Varok’s hand but Tyrande merely gave a nod in greeting.

“Congratulations to you both.” The archdruid grinned then. “And good luck, Saurfang. You’re going to need it.” He nodded toward Gylledra who frowned a little.

“I think he probably knows what he’s gotten himself into at this point.” She replied.

“Callaen has asked after you, Gylledra, he and the others believe you are due for a visit. Darnassus isn’t all that far, you know, and you are welcome whenever. But, ah…” Tyrande glanced at Varok.

“Don’t fret, priestess, I do not forget that whatever peace there is here today, I am still Horde and would not think to come to your city.” He told her.

“Thank you…High Overlord.” Tyrande gave a deeper nod. “I have always heard and known you to be a reasonable and honorable…person.” It seemed she couldn’t bring herself to pay a compliment and use the word _orc_ in the same sentence.

“I will be sure to visit the children soon, I could use a reminder of what innocence is.”

As the Night Elf leaders moved on, Varok glanced down at Gylledra who rolled her eyes obnoxiously. He gave a snort before quickly schooling his face again lest they be noticed sniggering as Anduin and Velen approached.

“Prince Anduin, Velen…thank you for coming, I am very surprised to see you both.” Gylledra greeted. Anduin was getting to that lanky, awkward stage of his youth and he grinned.

“I am just Anduin today, no one is here for their titles. I think of you as my friend and I am glad to have born witness to such a happy day.” He replied.

“Well, _Anduin_ , you still sound like a prince.” She grinned.

“May I give you a hug?” He asked.

“Oh…yes, of course…” It was a bit of a surprise to be so warmly and familiarly greeted, hugs were not something Gylledra had ever exchanged with any regularity once she was not a child. “Truly, thank you for coming.” She said as he released her again. “Does your father know you’re here?”

“Yes, actually, and he said to wish you both the best. He said he would send a gift, so, I suppose you may receive something in the coming weeks.”

“How strangely generous of Varian, I wonder what he’s up to.” She smirked.

“He just likes you, you made a good impression on him. Oh…and Rell…”

“ _Rell?_ ” Gylledra said too quickly, which got an odd look from her husband.

“Yes, he sends his regards.” Anduin frowned a little bit and Gylledra suspected that the Night Elf spy was likely present, because there was no way Varian would allow his thirteen year old son to traipse about Azeroth unsupervised.

“I’m sure he does.” She muttered and adjusted her dress a little self-consciously.

“Who is Rell?” Varok asked, not unreasonably.

“He’s the Night Elf I caught stealing documents in Orgrimmar a very long time ago.” She told him, which, it _was_ true. Besides, nothing ever _actually_ happened.

“Ahh.” He nodded, remembering.

“Velen, how are you enjoying the most awful place on Azeroth?” She looked up at the Draenei, smiling and grateful for the opportunity to change the topic.

“I have seen far worse places, but I can see how the Borean Tundra can appear…less than ideal.” He replied. “The words you shared with one another were beautiful, it would appear that the world is again in color for you both.”

“Yes, most assuredly.” She replied, smiling.

 

* * *

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* * *

 

 

Saurfang had, of course, suspected that their ceremony would end up with far more guests than Gylledra would have ever expected. The whispering and flitting about of Nasorya, Pava, and Sirno, along with their sidelong looks and general air of plotting had not gone unnoticed by him, at least. He was not disappointed, by any means, to have the Hold brimming full of people who mostly were there for Gylledra, he knew, but some were there because of him. He felt strongly that too often his _wife_ didn’t always see how much influence she had on the lives of others. There was a whole world of people she had helped directly and indirectly alike by sending the aid of the Nameless in times of need.

She had never looked so beautiful, he thought, but he felt that way every day, though she sparkled more today than she ever did. She wasn’t a general this day, she was a glittering bride, finally out from behind the wall of military strategy and war. Not many saw her anymore in the way he saw her.

Lor’themar and Vol’jin approached, both of them saluting the Horde, a gesture he and Gylledra both returned. They gave their congratulations and had a short exchange before also moving on, the start of two hours or so of people coming and going. While the large crowd had not been anticipated, there was a good number of mages present who made provisioning the guests with food and drink very simple.

Saurfang left Gylledra as she was in the midst of an in-depth discussion involving coded Nameless business that he had no interest in. He went to get himself a drink and found Sirno and Pava standing beside the table, both well into their cups. He assumed Reggie was somewhere with their child either uncomfortably avoiding so many people or simply tending to his parental duties.

“Hi, Overlord.” Sirno snorted. “HIGH Overlord. Here.” She shoved a cup into his hands.

“You’re drink, Sirno.” Pava blinked her eyes as though it was something she’d only just learned to do.

“Drunk.” Sirno corrected. “And so am I. You. You are so…also.”

“Do either of you know the name _Rell_?” Saurfang asked. He was curious after Gylledra’s odd reaction to the human prince’s mention of the elf.

“OH…he’s an elf. Right?” Pava offered.

“That one I nailed in Stormwind, who’s in love with…” She halted, eyes round.

“ _Sirno…_ ” Pava hissed, not at all quietly.

“Me. He’s in love with me. It’s very weird. Since…I’m an orc. And prefer…” She stopped again. “Goodbye.” She turned on her heel, grabbed another cup, and strode off, leaving a startled, uncertain Pava wide eyed and still blinking very slowly, like she had new eyes.

“Oh…shit. Sirno said a thing…” She told him, then frowned, realizing it was aloud. “Mage wine is very bad. Good, but…I should go, too…” Her about-face was significantly less graceful than Sirno’s as she crashed headlong into a support pillar but slowly sidestepped and headed around it. Saurfang couldn’t help chuckling to himself.

“It is good to see you both where you belong again.” Eitrigg approached, clapping him jovially on the back before downing the remainder of the wine in his own cup, which he promptly refilled.

“I am glad for it.” Saurfang told his old friend. They had known one another since they were children and they both knew the pain of losing their own children. “I am fortunate she decided I am worthy.” He chuckled, taking a drink. “Only Dranosh’s presence could make today better than it is, and I know too he would call me an old fool to dwell on loss when today I have gained so much.”

“A wise orc, your boy.” Eitrigg agreed. “So do not be an old fool, revel in your mate and those who have come to celebrate with you.”

“Aren’t we too old for revelry?” Saurfang cocked one brow.

“Yes. Yes we are, but revel nevertheless.”

 

* * *

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* * *

 

 

The day had simultaneously been the longest and shortest day Gylledra could mostly remember. Everything seemed like a blur whilst also standing out vividly in her mind. She hadn’t even had more than one drink! A wise decision considering she knew precisely how apt they both were to give into amorous feelings when under the influence of drink.

She was tired, more tired than expected and was doubting the tales she’d heard of glorious wedding nights of newly joined couples. Not to mention that their rooms were a disaster. Every surface littered with various getting-ready materials from earlier, the bed strewn with various articles of clothing. No…there were no candles, no warm glow or inviting bed, the fire was almost entirely extinguished and there was a chill in the air. Varok entered, closing the door behind him and made a mildly annoyed sound.

“Cleaning will wait until tomorrow.” Gylledra told him, letting out a long breath. “It would have been wiser to get ready in some _other_ room.” He looked exhausted, happy, but definitely ready to fall over. She shifted a little and looked down at her dress. “It is a pity it’s not real.”

“What?” He frowned, the wrinkles in his face deepening.

“The dress is just a spell.” She replied and with a small gesture, it was dispelled and vanished, so that she stood there naked. Varok’s eyes widened then, but he blinked slowly.

“That’s just cruel, Gylledra, I can’t even keep my _eyelids_ up.” He chuckled.

“Yes, well, it’s also fucking cold in here.” She complained, quickly digging out a night shirt from the chest of drawers and pulled it on before shooting a small ball of fire into the hearth to reignite it. She rubbed her hands together and went to Varok’s side, reaching beneath one pauldron to begin releasing the buckles that held it in place. He carefully lowered it to the floor, the thing likely weighing more than she did, then she started on the other. She’d done and undone his armor so many times she’d have been able to do it even if she _was_ asleep.

Finally, entirely undressed, his armor and underclothes on the floor in a careless heap, Varok sat at the edge of the bed. Gylledra stepped between his knees and stroked his hair, watching his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and she stood that way for a long moment.

“It was a good day.” She whispered. He hummed his agreement, face pressed between her breasts, but she pulled back and kissed his forehead and then his mouth. Warmth filled her, but also her limbs felt so heavy.

“Do you want me to make love to you?” He asked quietly.

“Can we wait until tomorrow?” She winced slightly, worried the suggestion would somehow be taken the wrong way.

“Oh, thank goodness.” He groaned with relief and she couldn’t help laughing as they shoved the strewn items off the bed and climbed in.

* * *

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Coming soon: The third and final part.


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